The Yellow Door Life

*I originally meant to publish this in July of 2023. Whoops.*

July 17th, 2023

This is not my first time in a waiting room, nor will it be my last. 

Life is just a giant waiting room if we want to get real philosophical with it. 

Today the waiting sat well with me.

Names and numbers are being called as I wait to have another round of blood work drawn. 

My number was next.

23.

One of my favorite numbers. I like to say favorite versus lucky because lucky implies it happens by chance. This wasn’t chance. God knew I needed to be #23 today. 

He knew I needed to sit there as long as I did. To see the people I saw. To say the prayers over them that I did.

Almost 2 years ago to the day, I was diagnosed with pulmonary arterial hypertension (PAH) via a right heart catheterization. 

…

July 30th, 2021

I have to be at the hospital by 7:00 AM to get checked in for the procedure. We get up around 5:00 AM, take the dogs out, feed them, and he gets his stuff together for work. By 6:30, we are on the road. Not much talking takes place. I’m nervous. He says I’ll be fine. He pulls up to the patient drop off and tells me he hopes everything goes well. It’s the closest he ever got to going to one of my appointments. 

I wait till he pulls away from the entrance and out of the parking lot. I call my Mom to let her know I was there and going to check in. She is just as nervous as I am. 

I say a few prayers, put my mask on, and walk into the lobby. 

Getting up early in the morning is usually for something important, sometimes for something fun, almost always for something uncomfortable. 

I’m asked to fill out paperwork as I watch hospital staff shuffle into the building and start their days. 

I have no clue what to expect from this procedure. 

I read all the tips to prepare for it. 

I’ve been fasting. 

I don’t know if I will actually be awake during it or not. I start to feel sick at the idea of feeling something moving around in my heart.

I look back at the paperwork, hand it to the receptionist, and get asked to sit down and wait. 

Waiting. 

Waiting is always a cross.

Even when it is for something incredible. IT IS ROUGH.

Now, waiting for something as daunting as a medical procedure, especially alone, I wouldn’t wish that kind of hell on anybody. 

I keep looking up and down the hallway. 

I look at my phone hoping it will bring some sort of comfort. Everyone I know is either asleep or at work already. 

Someone calls my name. 

Here we go. I’m taken back into a room to discuss my insurance, emergency contact information, post-procedure tips, and am given a patient ID bracelet. The nice woman then walks me back to the cardiac wing of the hospital where people like me, needing procedures like this go. 

It’s a large room with many individual patient “rooms” sectioned off by white curtains. 

Straight ahead is a sign that says Emily N. I put my stuff down on a chair and a nurse named Nick walks in to greet me. 

He cracks a couple jokes, trying to cut through the obvious nervousness in the air and asks me to change into the hospital gown and yellow socks sitting on the bed. He closes the curtain and I pick up the plastic package containing the yellow socks. They have white smiley faces all over them and grippy things on the soles. I knew Dad was there with me. I put everything on and sat on the edge of the bed taking note that my feet were in fact not sliding across the floor thanks to the grippy things. 

Nick returned a few minutes later and explained how everything would play out. I needed to take a pregnancy test to ensure that it was safe for me to undergo the procedure. 

Another pregnancy test to remind me that I was in fact not pregnant and no closer to being a mom.

I made my way to the bathroom, urine cup in hand, and yellow grippy socks safely on my feet. 

After they had my negative pregnancy test, a nurse came in to put in an IV in my arm. 

One of the most irritating parts of receiving medical care is my tiny veins. In this case, they were having such a hard time finding a good one to put the IV in that they broke out the ultrasound to locate one. 

After the IV was securely in place, I just wanted to be taken into the back and have this whole experience be over. 

Eventually Nick came over and told me they were on their way.

A team of 3 nurses came over and introduced themselves to me and explained how everything was going to work. They were going to wheel my bed back and I would move onto the procedure table once we were in the room. They warned me it would be cold and asked if I wanted warm blankets. 

I immediately said yes, and thanked them for asking, because I’m cold all the time and couldn’t stand the idea of being cold while having a probe dancing around in my heart. 

They brought the blankets and draped them over me and wheeled my bed to the examination room. 

Scenes from Grey’s Anatomy were racing through my head. 

I was still in disbelief that this was even happening to me. 

Please, let this test show them they were wrong. Please, don’t let me have PAH.

I said it over and over again as they moved me from my bed onto the table where the procedure would take place.

Please. 

The next 30 minutes seemed like a blur. They found a vein on my arm, just above my elbow and inserted the catheter.  

I immediately felt something move through my body and find its way into my heart. Until you feel it, there’s no real way to describe it. It didn’t hurt, but I felt like I was completely out of control over myself. All I could do was lay there and tell myself to breathe over and over again. 

Eventually the test came to an end and I was wheeled back to my section of the cardiovascular testing wing. 

The doctor who did the procedure came in and told me that they had found elevated blood pressure in my pulmonary artery and the right two chambers of my heart. It was conclusive.

I had PAH. 

I had to wait about an hour to go home so they could monitor me. My ex-sister-in-law picked me up and drove me home. I got inside and couldn’t wait for her to leave. I went up to my bed, laid down, and cried. 

Eventually, my ex-husband came home and woke me up. He asked how it went. I told him and he said, “Well, just pray about it.” An ironic statement from a man who ended up denying God’s existence as we split up.

I did pray about it though and it led me to a very different future than I could have imagined as I laid in my bed that afternoon. 

…

July 17th, 2023

That morning had started like most doctor days do. Even now with how well I am doing, there is always that feeling in the pit of my stomach that someone is going to try and give me bad news, or try to prescribe me another medication. I reflected on the last two years of appointments and reminded myself how far I’ve come. 

2 years ago. I weighed 25 more pounds than I do now.

2 years ago. I couldn’t walk a block without being completely winded.

2 years ago. I would never have set foot on a trail.

2 years ago. I settled for a marriage with a man who wouldn’t go to a doctor’s appointment with me.

2 years ago. I got a diagnosis that SAVED my life. 

My appointment went great and my conversation with my doctor was oddly satisfying. My team at Vanderbilt is understanding about my beliefs and the desires I have for my care, and they even seem surprised at how well I’m doing. 

So here I am sitting in a waiting room, a place that used to terrify me, focused on praying for everyone else. 

Never let the bad news, diagnosis, or no, deter you from going after your life fully and completely. 

I used to be scared when they called my number, now it’s just a number.

“23!”

Faith over fear y’all.