What is the right way to move on after your lung collapses?
My lung spontaneously collapsed while vacationing in Corolla, North Carolina. Like many things that happen to us in our lives, there is no real explanation for why. According to the Thoracic Surgeon, it’s a marvel that I’m alive. So, I’m simply thankful to be able to re-tell the story.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 1, 2019
After a bit of prodding by my younger brother Benjamin, I agreed to lift weights with him at the community gym. He drove us there while we listened to music. Neither of us had a care in the world. Up until now we spent the week basking in the sun, learning how to surf, riding bicycles to the end of Corolla, enjoying the company of family, and watching shooting stars and satellites pass us by in the night sky.
Benjamin wanted to workout back and bicep muscles, but I suggested that we workout chest and tricep muscles. The workout itself went well and was rather uneventful. I might even go as far as to say that I enjoyed it. The only minor issue we encountered is that the lighter weights were all being used. This led me to work out with weights that were a bit too heavy. The leading hypothesis as to why my lung collapsed is that the heavy weights put enough pressure on my chest wall to cause a “bleb” to burst. When a “bleb” bursts it releases air in the “pleural space”.
Shortly after leaving the gym, Ben and I changed into our swim shorts and joined the rest of our family at the beach. We went into the ocean and jumped through the crashing waves. After lunch, I began to notice that my chest was in pain. My initial thought was that I worked out too hard at the gym in the morning. I hopped in the jacuzzi at the beach house to allow the jets to release some of the tension. I’m still in pain and it’s growing worse.
Before dinner is ready I decide to take a shower, which feels laborious. Even the simple task of eating dinner takes my breath away. I sit on the couch and began searching for causes of chest pain after working out. An article notes that, while rare, one of the causes is a collapsed lung. This feels extreme, but the symptoms line-up, and it makes me anxious nonetheless.
To calm my nerves, I decide to sit outside with my older brother. He’s asking me questions about the business I’ve been working on. I’m trying to answer his questions, but I’m out-of-breath. I mentioned to him that every time I breathe I hear a popping noise on my left side. Looking back at this moment I can say with certainty that my lung collapsed on this day.
I complain to my Mom about the pain and shortness of breath and then trudge down the stairs to lay on my bed. I realize that I can no longer lay on my left side. The position is too uncomfortable and the pain is too great. The thought of my lung being collapsed keeps me anxious. It doesn’t help that I can feel my heart working harder than normal. All of this is strange because I’m physically in great condition and haven’t done anything strenuous since the afternoon.
Family members begin to visit me in my bedroom. One offers a cream that she uses for muscle pain. It’s infused with CBD. I rub it all over my chest. It offers some relief and the thought of my lung being collapsed begins to seem silly. Another family member that suffers from anxiety comes to talk with me. We share stories about how anxiety causes your brain to go to the most extreme place. This offers some relief and the idea of my lung being collapsed is now fully relegated to the background. With enough camphor and menthol to stop you in your tracks, I attempt to sleep while sitting up.
FRIDAY, AUGUST 2, 2019
After about three hours I wake-up wheezing and laboring to breathe. I sit up straighter which helps, but now both my mind and heart are racing.
What if my lung is collapsed? It can’t be.
How close is the nearest ambulance station in Corolla? 15 minutes away. I’ll be dead if it is a collapsed lung and I go into cardiac arrest.
Where is the nearest hospital? Two hours away. They’ll have to Medivac me off of this barrier island.
Oh, the things you don’t think about when you don’t need to. I try to reset my mind. I’m not going to unnecessarily wake up the entire household at two in the morning. And besides, I think to myself that I don’t have a collapsed lung. I eventually fall back asleep.
In the morning I protest again to my Mom about the pain. She wants me to go to an Urgent Care. But, the nearest Urgent Care is an hour away and it seems like a waste to drive that far for muscle pain. I give in and schedule an appointment for the afternoon. After seeing that I put chest pain as the reason for my visit, the Urgent Care facility calls me back and tells me that I need to either come in immediately or go to the nearest hospital.
My Mom and I begin driving to the Urgent Care facility. We hit traffic going through the Town of Duck. An hour later we arrive. The Urgent Care facility is very busy, but they see me immediately. My blood pressure is 153/102 and my pulse is over 100 beats per minute. They perform an EKG, which appears normal. The Physician listens to my chest and I tell her that I hear a popping noise every time I breath in. She attributes the noise to a tendon and prescribes Flexeril for muscle pain.
Looking back at this visit, the Urgent Care facility should have performed a chest x-ray. While I feel stupid for not demanding that they perform one, I figured they knew what they were doing as the subject-matter experts. Overall the visit feels like a waste of time and money. However, I do feel some relief thinking that the pain is all skeletal-muscular. We head back up to Corolla after picking up the Flexeril along with a new inhaler.
The rest of the day is uneventful aside from being in constant pain. After dinner I began packing my suitcase to head back to Phoenix the next day. This small task is incredibly difficult. I realize that I can’t bend forward to pick items off of the ground. Every time I do so it completely takes my breath away and I can feel my heart rate accelerate. It’s a bizarre feeling. I bend at the knees instead.
I decide not to take the Flexeril since I have to drive two hours in the morning to the Norfolk Airport. On the plus side, I’m able to sleep on my right side. This feels like an improvement over Thursday night. This may truly just be intense muscle pain. Things are looking up!
SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 2019
Unbeknownst to me or anyone else at the time, I’ll later find out it’s a marvel that I survive this day. I should have died is what I’m told. Final goodbyes are said in the morning. The car is packed. I start the engine. I’m completely unaware that I’m about to begin the most dangerous trip of my life. My parents and brother are also completely unaware that they’re being chauffeured to Norfolk by someone with one good lung.
I suppose ignorance is bliss because everyone is enjoying this drive. We stop to get donuts and coffee. We take the scenic route through Duck to bypass the traffic. The family is listening to music, talking, and observing new sights as we head north to Norfolk. Jokes are made along the way. These little moments in our lives are truly the most amazing.
We’ve arrive at the airport. My biggest concern right now is whether Budget is going to hassle us about the dings and marks on the car (which were there to begin with). Ben has left us. He’s trying to catch an earlier flight. It’s obvious to me now that none of these things are important. Life is ephemeral.
I’m moving at a glacial pace through this airport. I feel every step taken. I make it to our gate and gladly sit down. This airport feels like an obstacle course. I try to relax and begin watching Shark Tank on my phone (because who doesn’t love that show).
It’s time for us to board our flight. I feel every bump as the plane rolls down the runway. While I’m temporarily relieved once we’re in the air, I’m now in a very dangerous situation. I don’t connect the dots then, but as we climb it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I’m feeling agitated and sitting as straight as I can to assist in breathing. As I would later find out, the pressure from the plane should cause my lung to fully collapse. And, it turns out that planes don’t carry chest decompression needles.
We finally land…in…Chicago. I can breathe more easily now that we’re on the ground. I was mistaken for thinking that navigating Norfolk’s airport was hard. We walk what feels like nearly a mile to the next terminal. Compared to me, my 81 year-old Father is running through the airport. I can not keep up with him. What is wrong with me? Why is it still so hard to breath? I’ve been completely left behind now. I feel so agitated and exhausted once I catch up with him. There is so much tension in my neck. My heart is racing and I can barely breathe. I scold him for moving so fast and for leaving my Mom and I behind. There is no doubt that my blood pressure is in stage two of hypertension.
Our final flight is about to board. I’m now sitting between my parents. Again, as we climb it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. This flight is even longer than the first and even more laborious. For some reason, I’m compelled to watch Free Solo during this flight. Looking back, choosing to watch this documentary feels like some sort of metaphor for what I’m currently going through on this plane.
It’s the story of Alex Honnold, a hero of mine who is known for big wall free soloing. I’m unknowingly facing death as we hurtle through the sky at 35,000 feet with one good lung watching a guy who willingly subjects himself to death every time he attempts a climb. Even though I can’t breathe very well, I’m thoroughly enjoying this documentary.
Some improvements are incremental, some are iconic.
Nothing great was achieved by someone who is happy.
I agree with all of these sayings and jot them down in my phone as I watch. The documentary is over and we’re now over Northern Arizona. There are storms brewing in the distance. I snap a few pictures of the clouds as I contemplate Alex’s “Warrior Spirit”. This world is truly beautiful. After traveling 2,155 miles with one good lung, we land in Phoenix and I can breathe better once again.
On the car ride home, I hear the popping noise once again when I breathe. The thought of my lung potentially being collapsed comes back to me. I begin searching on the internet and come across an article written by someone who experienced a Primary Pneumothorax. The symptoms mirror mine:
“I started noticing an odd sensation that felt like it was in or around my heart. This was most pronounced when I laid down and particularly at certain angles.”
“My heart was beating differently somehow.”
“There was an audible squish or crackle sound on each beat. You didn’t have to put your ear up to my chest to hear it either.”
“It was very uncomfortable bending over, straightening back up, lying down…”
“I decided to wait and see if it got worse.”
Of course this individual decided to wait. Whose ever heard of a lung spontaneously collapsing?
After making it back home, it’s time for more Shark Tank and a muscle relaxer. I no longer have any pain and can breathe a lot easier once the drug takes effect. I think to myself that it was extreme muscle pain all along and pass out.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 4, 2019
I wake up in the morning wheezing, out of breath, and with the same amount of chest pain. I’m not feeling even a modicum better. My ability to do anything is extremely limited, which leads me to spend the day scanning documents into my computer. Even this simple task is too taxing. I call a friend in Texas that afternoon, but end up cutting the conversation short because it winds me.
In the evening I hear the popping noise again. Pain is radiating into my throat. I’m extremely tense and agitated. My resting heart rate is way over 100 bpm. This is not normal. A scary thought occurs to me before considering going to bed:
If I go to bed tonight and take another muscle relaxer, I will not wake up in the morning.
I don’t know where this thought came from. Perhaps it is simply human intuition or perhaps it came from the cosmos. I do not know. Thus, I propose going to Urgent Care again to definitively rule out a collapsed lung. My Mom thinks this is a smart idea.
We arrive around 11:30pm and fortunately nobody else is waiting to be seen. The Doctor explains that there is either something wrong with my heart or my lung has collapsed. He says they can do an EKG but that may not necessarily tell us anything useful and thus recommends a chest x-ray as a first step.
I walk to another room to have the x-ray done. I glance at the Technician’s screen. The image of my chest from the side is mostly black. I see a small ball sitting at the bottom of the chest cavity. I’m not a Doctor, but I now know definitively that my lung has collapsed. I solemnly walk back to the other room.
The Doctor comes into the room and says that my lung is 60–70% collapsed. “You need to go to the ER right now, you don’t have a choice” he continues. My legs are shaking and I’m scared. Fortunately the hospital is across the street. My Mom calls the house and tells my Father that he needs to come to the hospital immediately.
MONDAY, AUGUST 5, 2019
It’s now past midnight. I walk into the ER and tell the receptionist that “I have a partially collapsed lung.” I sign my name on an electronic pad. They open the door and roll me into a room. The Nurse asks me a lot of questions. He questions how I came to diagnose myself with a collapsed lung. I tell him that it was Google — Duh!
They tell me that they need to insert a chest tube and ask me to sign a waiver. They ask me why I’m so anxious to which I say: “I don’t want to die.” They give me Lorazepam to help with the anxiety, which works like a charm. I have zero anxiety. I’m now surrounded by family. I talk to them, but have no idea what was said.
The MD who will perform the procedure walks into the room. I recall her saying that they need to get this going before I go into cardiac arrest. Looking back, I’m now grateful I made the decision to go to another Urgent Care. They give me Fentanyl to help with the pain and begin inserting the chest tube. I protest about the pain. More Fentanyl. No more pain and no more memory about the rest of the procedure.
The procedure is a success. My lung has re-inflated! After the procedure is over I begin to form memories again. My younger brother and his girlfriend are sitting in the room. I tell them about the movie Apollo 11 and how amazing it is that we landed people on the moon. The nurse laughs that this is what I’m talking about right now.
The ER admits me to the hospital and the nurse rolls me to my room. Another nurse greets me and informs about the thoracic precautions that we now need to take. After being given this information, I pass out and don’t recall anything until the morning.
I’m in the worst pain of my life when I wake-up. The pain is so bad that I can barely talk. The nurse tells me that we’ll need to use opioids to get ahead of the pain. The Thoracic Surgeon pays me a visit. He asks me when I first noticed the symptoms. I tell him in North Carolina. He asks how I got here and is taken aback to learn that I flew to Phoenix. “It’s a miracle that you and I talking to each other right now” he says.
After I get through the worst of the pain, my spirit begins to improve. In fact, I recall thinking about how good I feel in this moment. Maybe it’s the drugs talking, but I really don’t care about any of the other stressors in my life. I don’t care about my business. I don’t care about how this ER visit is going to get paid. I don’t care that my lung just collapsed. I survived. I’m here and that is all that truly matters.
IN THE DAYS AFTER
This story isn’t over. There is a 50% chance that I’ll suffer another spontaneous pneumothorax some time in my life. I fit the profile well as a skinny white male. There is a certain level of anxiety created knowing that the odds my lung could collapse again on any given day are the same as a coin-toss. Every little pain in my chest is instantly amplified and concerning. I now bend at my waist when this happens to see if the movement takes my breath away. Fortunately everything has been good so far.
It would be easy to allow this experience to alter the way I live my life. I could opt to no longer fly knowing that the pressure from the plane could induce my lung to collapse. I could opt to no longer hike mountains knowing that I may find myself isolated at 14,000 feet with a collapsed lung. It would be perfectly reasonable for me to longer engage in these activities. This would be the most conservative path and the one of least resistance. It would also be the least enjoyable path and would reduce my quality of life.
However, in the words of Denzel Washington, “ease is a greater threat to progress than hardship.” I fully subscribe to this saying and, while cliche, believe that you must stand back up every time life knocks you down. As I’ve now come to appreciate, life is extremely short. When your ticket gets called, you’ll be powerless to do anything about it. So, do the thing that makes you feel uncomfortable and don’t allow the unknowns stop you from living life to the absolute fullest. In that spirit, you’ll still find me hiking mountains. The views from the top are truly breath-taking.
