Overall.. I can't really complain about my time in the hospital. I was constantly visited by friends, my mom flew in to take care of my dogs and me, and I had amazing care from my nurses and doctors. So... it would seem that my hospital stay was peachy-keen. But as I look back, I realize that I had my first anxiety attack in that hospital bed. It happened the second night. I had a few friends over (over to my hospital room- how weird does that sound??) We were just hanging out, having a great time, when all of a sudden I started to feel like I couldn't breathe and my chest was being squeezed in. I called my nurse, who called the lung specialist. They checked my lungs (for fear of more clots, or moving clots) and my oxygen levels. Everything tested fine, but still they put me on complete bed rest for the next 2 days, just in case. It was awful. But I did my best to get through it.
The other thing I hated... the blood draws... every 4 hours for the entire six days I was there... even in the middle of the night. In case you are having trouble with your math... that's 36 pricks in 6 days!!! I looked like a heroin user when I was finally released.
My life was no longer on my schedule. Everyone else made all the decisions for me... what time I ate, what medicines I got, when they took my blood, when I could get out of bed. My life was literally in their hands... and as a result, so was my control.
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