Three hours until takeoff

In a little over three hours, I’ll leave for the airport.

That was always the plan.

What wasn’t part of the plan was spending tonight in the emergency room.

After my doctor’s appointment, everything changed. We still don’t know why my bilirubin is elevated, why the fatigue has become so overwhelming, or why my body has all but stopped letting me eat or drink. By my body’s own choice, I’ve become essentially NPO. The dehydration has led to low blood pressure, and at this point, we’re all trying to figure out what’s causing everything else. The recommendation was simple: I needed IV fluids before I left.

The hope was that I could get into the IV clinic, get flooded with fluids, and be back on my feet before my flight. They were closing, so instead I drove to Chelsea Hospital.

I canceled the physical therapy appointment I needed. I canceled trauma therapy. Then I sat in the emergency room for more than three hours, watching people who had arrived after me get called back while I watched the clock and mentally replayed everything I still needed to do before leaving. Every minute that passed felt like another piece of the evening slipping away.

When they checked my blood pressure, it was 128/69. I told them that it is NEVER that high unless I am in a lot of pain. They told me

It was perfect and dismissed that it was so low only a few hours earlier.

Just hours earlier at my doctor’s office, it had been 88/60.

Living with POTS, barely eating or drinking, and trying to function through the summer heat hasn’t exactly been a winning combination. I’ve had pancreatic pain for days. I almost came to the emergency room on Friday, but I talked myself out of it.

I was wrong.

Eventually they started a bag of Lactated Ringer’s and gave me an injection for nausea. Neither helped. If anything, the pain and nausea became worse. The next recommendation was two Tylenol tablets and water. I declined. My doctor and I try to avoid Tylenol whenever possible, and honestly, I didn’t want to force anything into a body that had already made it pretty clear it wasn’t accepting anything by mouth.

Then the emergency physician came back in. He wasn’t casually suggesting that I stay. He was adamant.

He explained that my body was communicating that it wasn’t at a point where it could sustain itself with food or fluids by mouth. He wanted to admit me for IV fluids, pain control, a CT scan, and more testing. If I couldn’t drink, I’d become dehydrated again. My blood pressure could drop. I could pass out, hit my head, or end up in a hospital somewhere between Washington and Oregon.

As he talked, I could feel my heart sink. I knew what the right medical decision was. I also knew what canceling this trip would do to me.

This isn’t just a vacation I’ve been looking forward to. I’ve dreamed about standing in those forests for years. I’ve carried this trip around in my heart through months of planning, changing plans, dreaming some more, and wondering if it would ever actually happen. The thought of unpacking everything, canceling it all, and staying home without even trying felt like a different kind of heartbreak.

So I signed the Against Medical Advice paperwork. It was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was a little of both.

Even then, the night wasn’t over. I still drove to Brooklyn to drop off my mom’s and my grandma’s itineraries before heading home. It was after ten by the time I pulled into my driveway, and there was still packing to finish before the alarm would go off just a few hours later.

Now it’s after one in the morning. My hiking shoes are packed away inside my suitcase, my backpack is sitting on the table waiting by the door, and in a little over three hours I’ll pick it up and leave for the airport.

I honestly don’t know what happens next. Perhaps I’ll spend tomorrow beneath towering evergreens that I’ve imagined for half my life. Maybe my body will decide for me, and this story will take a completely different turn.

For tonight, all I can do is close my eyes for a couple of hours, trust that I’ve made the best decision I could with the information I had, and hope that when morning comes, my body gives me just enough to take the next step.