For decades (since I was a young child, in fact), I've heard and read about the Japanese work ethic; it's been held up as a model for Americans. What's not often mentioned is the fact that death by overwork is quite common in Japan. It's so common, in fact, that the Japanese have a word for it: karoshi.
Despite my sincere efforts to bring some balance into my life, I struggle not to overwork. You already know this, as I've mentioned it several times, but what you are about to read will demonstrate that it's not just an irritant anymore. (For extra drama, you may want to insert the "Law and Order" scene opening music at each date - in your mind, of course; we don't want anyone sitting nearby to think you've lost your marbles.)
Sunday, 8 July 2007, 3:00 PM
I drop my son off at the airport for his annual trip to spend a few weeks visiting my ex-husband's sister. I plan to spend this time doing things I can't really do when he's with me: stay late at the office every single day. Am I a party animal or what?
Tuesday, 10 July 2007, 7:00 AM
I go to work, feeling slightly under the weather. I have a large group of colleagues and contractors in to kick off a big, expensive project that I'm slated to lead. As the day progresses, I feel worse. In fact, I feel as if I'm getting the flu. Who gets the flu in July? Nevertheless, I'm quite sure that's what's happening, as I feel vaguely feverish, achy, with a scratchy throat and a mild cough.
I head home after work, drink about a quart of iced tead, down some Nyquil, and then go to bed. At 6:30 PM.
Wednesday, 11 July 2007, 4:00 AM
I don't feel any better when I awaken at my usual 4:00 AM. If anything, I feel worse. Uncharacteristically, I call in sick, and then roll over and go back to sleep. Throughout the day I continue to feel yucky, but don't take my temperature and don't call the doctor. After all, I've got the flu, right?
Wednesday, 11 July 2007, 6:00 PM
My buddy, Dave, arrives with some groceries. I'd called him to let him know my plight, and he stopped at the store to get some soup, bottles of iced tea and ginger ale, and more Nyquil. He did this because he and his wife are good friends, and I owe them my life (quite literally, as it turns out). Dave tells me that I look like ass, and comments that I'm really hot (um, temperature-wise, folks; trust me, at this point, there was no one on earth who would've thought I looked hot). Dave suggests I take my temperature, which I do, only to discover that my thermometer is malfunctioning. It has to be malfunctioning, because no one gets a fever of 105.5º from the flu!
Aside: Needless to say, it was my brain that was malfunctioning, because I refused to let Dave take me to the emergency room. I was convinced - absolutely and with total certainty - that I had the flu, and there was nothing any doctor could do to help me.
Wednesday, 11 July 2007, 8:30 PM
After force-feeding me ice water and several aspirin, getting my fever down to 103.5, and eliciting a promise that I would go to the doctor first thing tomorrow morning, Dave leaves. I drink some more ice water, and go to sleep on the sofa watching television.
Thursday, 12 July 2007, 1:00 PM
So much for "first thing in the morning." I awaken at about 10:30, drink some iced tea, then head up to my bedroom to take a shower. I shower, and then lie down for 30 minutes until I have enough energy to get dressed. This? is really not looking good.
I drive to the doctor's office, feeling absolutely drunk even though I haven't had any alcohol other than my once-nightly dose of Nyquil. Nevertheless, I get to the doctor safely.
Doc looks me over, listens to my lungs and my story of woe, and pronounces that I probably have bronchitis, although my lungs are clear (in retrospect, how my lungs could've been clear is beyond me). He hands me a prescription for Biaxin, and is about to send my on my way when he decides to send in the nurse to check my O2 saturation with a pulse oximeter. Normal range is 95 and up; mine is only 93.
Thursday, 12 July 2007, 3:00 PM
I'm at the radiology lab, getting a chest X-ray. But really, I just want to go home and go back to sleep because I am soooooooooo exhausted from all this effort.
Thursday, 12 July 2007, 5:00 PM
Doctor calls; X-ray indicates I have pneumonia in my left lung. The good news is that Biaxin is the drug of choice for pneumonia, so I needn't worry. The doctor tells me to take my meds and come back for a followup visit on Monday.
Friday, 13 July 2007 - Monday, 16 July 2007
I'm taking my medication like a good girl. I'm drinking plenty of fluids. I continue to feel horrible - exhausted far beyond what I would expect (and sleeping probably 20 hours a day), still feverish (now staying at about 102º), and still feeling perpetually drunk.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 1:00 PM
I'm back in my doctor's office, lamenting the fact that I really don't feel any better. After checking me over, he grabs the pulse oximeter to check my O2, and discovers that it's 91. Well, this can't be good.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 2:00 PM
Getting another chest X-ray.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 4:30 PM
Doctor calls and tells me that the pneumonia in my left lung has worsened, and I now have pneumonia in my right lung as well. He says it's clear that the Biaxin is not up to the task, and wants me to check in to the hospital.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 4:36 PM
I have a complete and utter meltdown. "Hospital? They KILL people in hospitals! Do you know how many drug-resistant bacteria are in the average hospital room, just WAITING for some sick person to show up? Please, can't you just give me a broader-spectrum antibiotic?" (Did I mention that my brain wasn't quite functioning properly?)
Monday, 16 July 2007, 4:38 PM
Doctor insists that I really don't have a choice - I need to get to the hospital, and I ought to do it soon. I call Dave and ask him to provide driving services, as I'm afraid to drive that distance in my obviously-impaired condition. I then pack up some pajamas, some meditation beads - and my laptop, so I can work.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 8:00 PM
My O2 has been steadily dropping since I got to the hospital. When I arrived, it was 90. Within an hour, it dropped to 88. Now? It's at 85, and I'm not doing well. My pulmonologist comes in for a visit, looks at my chart, looks at me, and says, "Your pulse-ox is not good, you're struggling to breathe, and your complexion is beginning to look dusky; I think we need to move you to Intensive Care until we get you stabilized."
Monday, 16 July 2007, 8:07 PM
I experience another meltdown as I realize:
- I am really, really sick; I could die tonight.
- My son is over a thousand miles away, and I might never see him again.
- My sister is 400 miles away, and just started a new job, so she can't get here.
- I may have some good friends, but I am really, completely, and totally alone.
Monday, 16 July 2007, 8:08 PM through Tuesday, 17 July 2007 9:00 AM
I move to the ICU, and I'll spare you the details of the indignity of the Intensive Care Unit. My breathing becomes more and more difficult, despite the IV antibiotics and supplemental oxygen. At one point, every (shallow) breath I take results in a coughing fit. I'm sent to Radiology for a CT scan of my lungs, and given a shot of steroids. Within an hour or so, I'm able to breathe a bit better and finally get some sleep.
Tuesday, July 17 2007, 11:00 AM
My pulmonogist comes by for a visit, and tells me that they were afraid they were going to lose me last night; it seems that my CT scan showed what looked like ground glass in my lungs. His best guess is that I was beginning to develop ARDS, but that the combination of antibiotics and steroids stopped it before it could really take hold.
Tuesday, July 17 2007 through Friday, July 20 2007
I'm moved from the ICU to a regular floor room at about 3:30 on Tuesday. For the next few days, I have to deal with supplemental oxygen, checks of my O2 every few hours, near-constant jockeying with my antibiotics (as the team struggles to find an antibiotic combo that will kick the pneumonia without also killing my liver), and really bad food. Thanks to various friends (and my ex-husband, who was far more helpful than I could've hoped), I had lots of reading material, so at least I wasn't bored.
Friday, July 20 2007 3:00 PM
I'm headed home with my driver, Dave, as I've been discharged. We stop at the local drug store to get my 8 prescriptions filled, and Dave wanders to the other side of the store, as far away from me as he can get. Why, you ask? Well, it seems that Kathleen + IVs = bruises. Lots of bruises. (It's clear to me that I could never be a junkie, because there'd be no hiding the track marks. But I digress.) I have so many bruises all over both arms, and am walking so sluggishly (I am still pretty tired, after all), that I'm sure I look as though I've been beaten to within an inch of my life. And folks are looking at poor Dave as though he did it to me. Poor guy.
Present Day
Obviously, I survived my brush with death. The important question here is: what did I learn from this?
For that, you'll need to read the next post. It's a beautiful Sunday morning, and I want to enjoy it with my husband-to-be.
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