After
eating and the getting on the road, I fell asleep to make sure I was
well rested to take on the second leg of the journey. In Flagstaff,
Arizona we stopped for
fuel and I proceeded to get sick. Maybe it was bad food… no one really
knows—actually, they do. I was going into heart failure but didn’t know
it. We continued on the road trip, but I still was sleeping a lot.
Unfortunately, my mother had to drive the whole
trip by herself because I was just that tired. Something clearly wasn’t
right, but maybe it was the food. Ok, not really but we didn’t know
better at the time.
Upon
arrival to Colorado Springs, I had another episode where I made my
mother pull over so I could proceed to get sick outside of the car.
Walking around at altitude
was difficult, I couldn’t breathe well and it felt like I had an
elephant tap-dancing on my chest in stilettos. Walking into a restaurant
was quite interesting. Well, I didn’t actually make it into the
restaurant, 10 feet from the car the elephant started
his Irish jig, and 30 seconds later I was blue and on the ground. I
woke up shortly afterward without much recollection of what had
happened. However, I had previously had an episode like this four months
prior while dropping off a portly cat at my former
bosses house before I moved to California. Finally, my mother could see
what the black-out episodes were really like. Still, we thought nothing
of it. Well, my mom thought something of it, I was oblivious to it
probably because of the invincibility complex
that most 18 year old males have at that point in their life. After
eating a late dinner, I felt a little better, perhaps it was the
company, regardless sinister things were still taking place much to our
unsuspecting wonder.
Eventually
we made it back to the hotel, and walking from the parking lot to the
room was a struggle. Horton the Elephant seemed to want to crush my
heart with his
size huge stilettos and bad dancing. Though out the night I was running
to the bathroom, throwing up over and over. Another case of food
poisoning? No. A stomach flu? No. The next morning I took a bath to
clean up from the night of sweating and puking my guts
out. After getting out of the tub I sat on the toilette. Next thing I
knew I woke up under the vanity, my head hurting and my chest pounding. I
proceeded to get dressed and sat at the foot of my mom’s bed. Not 5
minutes later she walked in with Michelle, my
long time babysitter though elementary and middle school. “Mom, it
happened again,” I said. I think all the color went out of her face at
that point, and Michelle stepped in and said, “You’re going to the
hospital whether I have to drag you kicking and screaming
or not.” While still reluctant, I went with it. We stopped by Shrap
Metal to get retainers for my piercings at the time (I mean who want’s
lightning rods in their body if you code?). Off to the hospital we went.
Upon
arrival at the hospital, I was taken into triage. The nurse put on a
pulseox and took my blood pressure. While my blood pressure was normal,
my oxygen saturations
were low, but more importantly my pulse was through the roof. She
thought the machine was broken… she tried the other hand… same result…
she took it by hand… same result. Next thing I know I was being whisked
to the cardiac area of the emergency room. There
was a slew of doctors and nurses around me. All I can recall is an echo
and chest x-ray at the time. I still didn’t want to stay, and I told
the doctor the only way he was keeping me was if I had a hot nurse. Of
course, the doctor delivered and my ICU nurse
was gorgeous.
The
next week was pretty intense, I think I had every test known to man run
on me including the infamous right heart catheterization. The
pulmonologist and cardiologist
taking care of my case came in and said, “We are pretty sure you have
pulmonary hypertension, but we’re not 100% sure. We need to send you up
to Denver where they have pulmonary hypertension specialists to evaluate
you further.” On my birthday, October 18th,
2002 I was transferred to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Denver, Colorado.
Dr.’s Lang and Kenard wasted no time and completed the work up for
pulmonary hypertension. After reviewing everything Dr. Lang came in and
said, “Sean you have Pulmonary Hypertension… right
now there are two medications, Flolan and Tracleer. Tracleer is new and
with as advanced as your case is you probably won’t get any benefit out
of it before the inevitable. Flolan is the Gold standard and would
probably be your best bet. If you don’t do any
treatment, you’re looking at maybe 2 years.”
Yeah, let’s just say my 19th
birthday present from a doctor was what seemed like a death sentence.
Fortunately, St. Joe’s was a teaching hospital. Every
floor had tons of laptops. I was scared, but very compliant so the
nurse brought me in a laptop. I spent most of the night researching PH
on my own. Mind you, in 2002 there weren’t tons of resources that were
easily accessible. After spending the rest of the
night soul searching and trying to decide what I wanted to do I fell
asleep. My mom arrived back at the hospital early that morning, and the
doctor stopped in. I told Dr. Lang know that I’d go with the Flolan,
after all, who really wants to die at 21—and that’s
what he pretty much gave me. I was slated to have a central line put in
and the rest is history.
After
getting back to California about two weeks after this whole ordeal took
place I met with my current pulmonologist. He told me at that point I
wasn’t likely ever
going to work or go to school. The same sentiment was resonated by the
PH specialist I saw in Los Angeles. However, as I began increasing on
the Flolan I began feeling better. My current pulmonologist never
mentioned the work or school thing again. I told
him I was going to go back to school and he supported me. Now I am a
second year Medical Student at Western University of Health Sciences
College of Osteopathic Medicine of the Pacific in Pomona, California.
I’ve worked, I’ve loved, and I’ve lost but I couldn’t
be more blessed.
The
Pulmonary Hypertension Association contacted me in early 2009 about
things they could do to make PHA better for young adults. In December of
2009, I was asked to
join the Young Adult Advisory Board in which Generation Hope arose with
special thanks to Colleen B., Britt R., Lindsay N. and myself. Shortly
after that, I was asked to become a PHA PH Patient Mentor. In 2012,
while getting my Masters of Science in Medical
Sciences, I got a wild idea to come up with a cartoon series for
children recently diagnosed with PH and so Lips Painted Blue (www.lipspaintedblue.com) was born. Needless to say, PH has shown me everything that
I can do.
Mind
you, I still have bad days occasionally, especially when modifying
medications, life couldn’t be better. I will take the first part of my
boards this summer and
then finally head out to rotations to do good with actual patients. I
will be able to take my experiences as a patient and relate to other
patients to ensure they get compassionate and comprehensive care. My
journey with PH may have begun back in 2002, but
I look at each day as a new beginning. Every day gives me the
opportunity to learn something new about myself. I couldn’t love life
any more than I do, and continue to preserver. The good will always
outweigh the bad, and the resources that are available for
individuals are limitless. Through opportunities like the Tom Lantos
Innovations in Community Service Award from PHA, if a resource doesn’t
exist you can let your creative juices flow and create it.
My
final remarks are something that I still believe to this day. Even
though you have PH, it doesn’t have you. You should never give
up, never surrender and most definitely live your life to the fullest.
If you have any questions you can feel free to contact me at
sean.wyman@gmail.com
I'm so proud of you, Sean, for being an inspiration to everyone diagnosed with PH.
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