Slowly but surely, I gained my strength back.
After I arrived in Baltimore on Sunday evening, I was placed in the neurology unit of Johns Hopkins. My first night there, I was again awoken by my body – this time, however, because my heart felt like it was beating a million miles per hour. I literally thought I was going to die that night. I started screaming for the hospital staff who transferred me down to the ICU where I was diagnosed with a pulmonary embolism and put on blood thinners. The next morning, I saw the specialist who I came there for. He was upbeat and enthusiastic, looking me right in the eye and saying, “David, three things are going to help you get better: physical therapy, physical therapy, and physical therapy.” He told me that my sessions would be long and difficult. At the end of the first one, I had a little more movement in my foot than I did before. After all I had been through to that point, it was cause to celebrate, even if it didn’t seem like much.