On Saturday, January 7, 1984, I finished working a night shift at the 750th Military Intelligence Group on Security Hill at Misawa Air Base. I wasn’t feeling well that morning and asked to be excused from physical training (P.T.), but I was told no. While participating in P.T., I had a seizure and passed out.
After I awakened, I was dropped off at my barracks. I had trouble catching my breath while walking down the hallway and had to hug the wall and stop numerous times before I made it the short distance to my room. After entering my room, I thought a shower might make me feel better, so I got in the shower, but I had to lie down because I couldn’t breathe while standing. I turned the shower off, but I couldn’t walk and still breathe, so I had to crawl out of the bathroom.
I crawled to my futon and figured that whatever the problem was, I could just sleep it off. It became harder for me to catch my breath, and I got into the fetal position, which helped a little. I found it more and more difficult to breathe, and I finally decided to wake my roommate and asked him to call the hospital. Luckily, the hospital staff was participating in a drill at the hospital that morning.
The rescue squad quickly arrived, and they strapped me to a stretcher and wheeled me out into the cold. I started shivering and shaking uncontrollably. I remember a female EMT telling me to stop shaking, and my response was, “I would if I could, bitch.” Several minutes later, I arrived at the emergency room.
The emergency room was really bright, and there were people everywhere. I heard them say they needed to remove my shirt, and I offered to take it off – it was my 1982 Easters t-shirt. They cut the shirt off instead of letting me take it off. Next, they inserted a catheter, and that really hurt. It hurt so bad I raised up off the table. They pushed me back down, and then I saw someone coming toward me with shock paddles.
The next thing I remember, I’d been intubated, probes and IV’s were connected all over my body, and a nurse was telling me I’m going to be okay. While I was out, I had coded several times. The Air Force doctors wanted to try open heart surgery, but the Japanese Liaison, who was also participating in the drill that morning, had contacted a Japanese heart center, which was several hours away. Once stabilized, I was transported to the heart center.
It seemed like I had been awake forever, and my mouth was parched. I tried asking for water, but I couldn’t speak above a whisper, and no one spoke English. Finally, I received some ice chips, was wheeled to a room, and connected to an IV with Heparin. The Japanese doctors had determined that I had a massive pulmonary embolism with cardiac arrest. There were blood clots filling most of my lungs. The two things I remember most about the Japanese hospital are the cold cabbage they gave me to eat, and the families who stayed in the hospital with their sick family members – I remember them sleeping in the hallways. After a week in the Japanese hospital, I was sent to the hospital at the Clark Air Base in the Philippines.
After a week of tests in the Philippines, I flew on a stretcher in a C-130 to Japan, Hawaii, San Francisco, San Antonio, and finally, D.C. I was stationed at Walter Reed for nine months, took Coumadin every day, and was subjected to many tests during that period – blood gasses were my least favorite. The doctors at Walter Reed found a heart murmur, a floppy valve, an irregular heartbeat, reduced lung capacity, and I couldn’t speak above a whisper because my left vocal cord was paralyzed. My left vocal started working again on Easter Sunday 1984. The Army doctors never were able to tell me why the Massive Pulmonary Embolism happened.
Now, I take medicine for high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and I’ve been diagnosed with an abnormally low heart rate. I haven’t had any chest pain in over a year. I still think about what happened January 7, 1984 every day, just not as frequently as I did 20 years ago.