Life after DVT - Prologue Part 2

So having eventually managed to get my self in the right place to be treated and after ultrasound being diagnosed with the bi-lateral DVT's I then started on the long recovery process. Bearing in mind I could not walk more than 3 or 4 steps without crippling agony bringing me to the floor.

I remember the haematologist telling me the morning after my arrival to the hospital in Liverpool, that I would be right as rain again in just a couple of days. When a week had past and I had seen no improvement I really did start to worry.

I was still on the low molecular heparin injections in the stomach. (They are not nice, and don't half leave a bruise if not done well.) I was sat in bed at home feeling mighty sorry for myself. My wife had returned to work and a guy who we house shared with was looking after me when he wasn't in University.

I started to fall into a bit of a depression. My wife and I were supposed to be moving to Botswana the coming September, this was now the end of April and I still could not walk. I had just married the love of my life and believed I may be crippled for life. How crap was that going to be for her. I had always been fairly active, martial arts, jogging, archery, now I was pissing in a jar at the side of my bed because I could not bear the pain of taking myself to the toilet. I also could not get out of my mind the fact that I was still at high risk for a PE (Pulmonary Embolism - Blood clot of the lung). To be honest this was without doubt the worst time in my life. I had been married two weeks, was due to move abroad for a new life. This should have been the best times of my life.

On one particular low day I ended up calling my Dad and in a very tearful state I dictated to him what I would want for my funeral. I mean for goodness sake, what must that have been like for him.

It was really around this time I came to realise that the depression was not going to help me. It was the realisation that all these people around me who loved and cared for me were doing all they could to make me comfortable, relaxed, fed, toileted, shaved etc... It just seemed wrong to feel sorry for myself. I know I had so much to look forward to, I wasn't prepared to lie down and let this 'medical thing' stop me.

I moved from the bed upstairs to the sofa bed in the living room. This helped as I was in the thick of the house and not closeted away upstairs. The bed was not the most comfortable and the trek to the toilet for those times when a jar won't do, were significantly more painful. But it was worth it.

The next couple of weeks now seem a bit of a blur. I slept, ate, watched TV, used the Internet, slept again and so on. I started to be in less and less pain for the trips to the loo. I was able to make it to my regular bed upstairs in the evening and things were looking better. After about 4 weeks I risked a venture outside. It was a nice sunny day and our local pub, a mere 40 yards down the road had a beer garden. I hadn't had a drink for weeks and thought it would be a great celebration to go to the local and drink a pint.

I got dressed in regular clothes, rather than the pyjamas I had been wearing for weeks, and opened the front door. I was absolutely terrified but confident. I soon realised that a quick walk into the kitchen to get a drink, or a trip to the toilet is massively different to trying to walk 40 yards down the road. I was in agony, I was managing 10-15 steps at a time before I would have to stop and rest at the kerb side. But I was not going to give up. My wife would help me up and hold my hand for each stretch. I think it may have taken us 15 minutes, but we did make it to the pub. And believe me, that was the best pint of bitter I think I have ever had.

This was a serious milestone for me. I was walking, and more importantly I was walking to do an independent action. From that point, I walked more and more each day. And each day I was able to take more steps before needing to stop and rest. Before long I was walking up to and possibly further than a mile in one go. And then I noticed something peculiar happening to my upper body that put the fear of god into me. I was developing what looked like serious clots on the outside of my rib cage, down the sides of my waist and to the sides of my groin. I immediately went to the Doctor who examined me. It was not clots forming, but the formation of collateral veins. Collateral veins are veins that have changed their flow capacity to compensate for damage or blockages to other veins in the body. In my case my two deep veins in my legs. So, it seemed that the exercise was very much helping, albeit with the loss of a regular looking torso. Not pleasant at the time, but a manageable issue if it was helping me walk again.