Pleural Effusion Starts To Be Troublesome

Pleural Effusion Starts To Be Troublesome

I suppose I was hoping that after the problems I'd had after the first operation, which needed my chest to be opened again to stem the bleeding from the right mammary artery, followed by the bout of Atrial Fibrillation, I might by now be on the home straight! but it was not to be, and I had another - not uncommon problem after open-heart surgery - complication to deal with.  

I started coughing on a regular basis - but it was not like a usual cough, where you could feel something in your lungs, that would come on up (although - horror! - I cannot actually bring anything up when I've suffered from a cough) after a bout of coughing. This sort of stayed put, still making me feel awful and as though I must try and dislodge whatever was irritating me; a dry, hacking, but "non-productive" cough. 

It would abate for a while, and then start up at any time - it seemed anything could start me off. I could be sitting on the sofa, and clearly my chest was not happy in this position, and I would be really gasping. The only thing that seemed to help would be to start singing - any really good, lower register songs were best, because after a while it felt as though I could "get underneath" whatever was down there, and shift it around a bit, and then I could breathe better.

I decided to request another x-ray to see how things were going, and so on 24 March, I got an appointment with a private GP who arranged for me to have an x-ray that same day, along with a set of blood tests. Two days later, on Friday, 26 March, I rang up to get the results; I spoke to the GP, hoping for good news.

The first thing I was told was that my blood test results were fine, and my haemoglobin had gone up to 12, which was now back in the normal range; I thought, "Hurrah! I'm making good progress!" But then I asked about the x-ray results, and that was when I came back down to earth with a bang.

The report on the pleural effusion was not good; there was a lot of fluid, especially on my right lung, and it was really serious; the GP felt I should probably go to A&E.

I guess I had expected as much, but it was a setback, and something else to get my head around. 

Until I developed pleural effusion, I had never heard of it, but of course now I know it is fluid lying around the lungs - not actually inside them - so you cannot ever get rid of it by coughing. I was on a reasonably high dose of diuretics, to try and eliminate it that way, but it clearly the medication wasn't working, or certainly not fast enough to alleviate the problem, and I was now coughing and spluttering enough - and worried enough - to follow the GP's advice. I rang 111 - I didn't call 999, because obviously it wasn't as dramatic as the evening when I developed the AF -  but I certainly felt I needed help.

I got through to a controller, who took the details, and said a GP would call me back. I got a call very quickly, from a really sympathetic and helpful doctor, who said I really should not wait, but go to A&E, and he would send an ambulance for me. 

I was reassured so far, and got myself prepared, so that I would be ready to go as soon as the ambulance arrived, but a short while later, another man rang me from another control area, to say the A&E Department would be expecting me, but did I really need transporting by ambulance to the Hospital? Well, it really wasn't necessary, as Wendy could take me in the car, so that was decided upon. As I was expecting a long haul in the hospital, and probably being kept in, Wendy made me some marmalade sandwiches and I took toothpaste, toothbrush and tissues and water as well, so I was well prepared. 

To begin with, everything went well. Wendy took me to the Hospital, and Bob came in with me. In the foyer of the Hospital, there was a booth with a nurse in it, where I had to check in; my name was on the list and I was given a yellow card (no, this isn't a football match penalty!) and told to go through to A&E. I felt it was a case of so far, so good, and that I was certainly on the way to seeing someone who could help me.

Then, alas, the wait started. To begin with, we ended up in a small waiting room, filled with hopeful patients - social distancing was very difficult, if not impossible to maintain, and then one poor elderly chap came in, who could not stop coughing; not knowing what he might have wrong with him, made for a very unnerving situation for everyone else. Eventually, after 3 hours, I was seen by a nurse who did an ECG and fitted a cannula - I know he did his best, but he finally got it in to a vein above the bone leading from my left thumb, and every time I moved a bit, I could jolly well feel it. I know other nurses haven't had a problem finding a vein on my left arm, but this was extremely uncomfortable; anyway, I went along with it,  and tried not to move too much.

Then we sat and waited; and waited. I was told I had to wait at Majors B (I think!) to see a Doctor. After another hour, I simply could not bear sitting in the waiting room for a moment longer so, along with lots of other patients, we moved in to the corridor, where we sat, strung out like a long row of sausages, along its length.  There were people constantly walking up and down: staff, other patients, all sorts of people, and in view of the risks of the virus, it was really worrying.

After we'd been there for 5 hours, and there was still no indication when I might see a doctor, I rang Wendy to told her what was happening. By now, it was 10.00 p.m. and I was very weary. I was coughing, my back was giving me gyp, and I was longing to just lie down.

Wendy had the brilliant idea to e-mail my consultant, and let him know where I was and what was happening. To our amazement - and being very impressed - he e-mailed Wendy straight back, asking her for  my mobile phone number; as soon as he had it, he then rang me in the hospital. 

His instructions were very clear and very direct. He was not happy with me staying where I was, and said I should go home, and we'd make arrangements for me to have to the plural effusion drained elsewhere. He said he could do it himself, if necessary, but to avoid further risks with the virus, it was agreed I'd now go home, and we would sort out treatment at a better venue.

Then I had to find someone to discharge me - and remove the cannula! I was lucky enough to find the nurse who had fitted it for me, and he took us "round the back" to see the Sister in Charge; she was really kind and helpful, and I didn't have to wait long before the cannula was out, and she assured us we were good to go. 

Wendy came straight back to the hospital to collect us; we had one moment of hilarity, because during the brief phone call to say I was being discharged and could go home, and please could she come and collect us, we told her my consultant had said he would drain the fluid for me if necessary, and she thought we meant right now, this evening! So, as we went out of the hospital, Wendy turned left, ready to drive to the hospital where I had had the operation! 

It was but a moment to put Wendy right, and round she went at the next roundabout, and then to home. I have never been so glad to get back - even with the troublesome cough, being able to settle into my own bed, in safety, was such a blessing.