I was sitting in a chair in a room with a paramedic. I didn’t know him. Suddenly, he pointed out that I was having an a symptomatic spontaneous tension pneumothorax on the right side. Sure enough he was right. At that point, I became short of breath. My blood pressure was 60/42. They were setting up for a chest tube, but I knew I was about to code. I yelled out “Needle!” (Which obviously means needle decompression). I passed out on the ground. The paramedic couldn’t remember where to do it. “Above the second or third rib?! I can’t remember!” I mustered the strength to wheeze, “Third.” He puts the needle in. It helps. I can breathe. The surgeon removes the needle because thet are going to set up for a chest tube. Then the surgeon decides I shouldn’t get a chest tube until after CT, and first he wants a lateral chest X-ray. I’m sitting there and the pneumothorax starts to expand and expand. I’m turning gray. I can’t breathe.
I wake up panting and freaking out and am so wound up I can’t fall back asleep.
This is what happens when I dream about work, which thankfully isn’t often. I assume other people dream about not having the deck of slides for that presentation or showing up naked to work. I dream about dying in a very specific and real way. I would like a dream refund, please.
No comments:
Post a Comment