DOCTORS

While practicing blood draws with a fellow med student, I felt off. I felt bad enough to call out for Elliot, who were doing the same assignment as me, but just in the other end of the room. I do not remember much more until later in the day, but I've been told that I "called out for Elliot, swayed and dropped like a sack of potatoes". Our instructor dropped everything and went into business mode. It was not the worst place to collapse when surrounded by medical trained professionals and a bunch of nosy med students.

Once I woke up properly, I thought I had passed out for a few seconds because of the exercise. I was proven wrong quite quickly as my father was hovering above me with a concerning look at the hospital. He told me what had happened and that he had been waiting 2 hours for me to wake up. My jaw dropped. Nothing made sense at that moment.

The hospital ran some test, but couldn't pin point the reason for my sudden collapse. They wrote it off as being sleep deprived and dehydrated. I was released from the hospital the day after with a relatively clean bill of health. I do not blame my father for worrying and wanting to help me with everything. He tried his best to handle the situation but having worked with people on the beach he couldn't hide his concern.

One good thing came out of my trip to the floor, my sister came home for a week to help keep an eye on me. We ended up spending our time in the yard around the pool talking and reading books. Just like the old days when she lived at home. Our younger sister, Georgia, hung around too, but her main focus was on her school work. I could feel that she was nervous around the whole situation and I tried to comfort her. After a few days she opened up and was her usual happy self.

Four weeks after my hospital trip and the dizziness was still lingering. It was most definitely worse in the morning and the simple act of standing up was near impossible. My father's concern grew more and more. The days where he had the early riser shift at the beach, he would come in and wake me up. He usually stayed for a good 20 minutes, just sitting on my bedside and asking how I was feeling. Once he had left, I had 30 minutes to get ready and roll for my med classes. Those 30 minutes were the longest ever as they were painful and the dizziness caused me to bump into walls and doorframes giving me bruises. Around lunch time each day I felt what best can be described as having a brain fog.

On a normal Thursday night, I came home from a shift with Elliot. He had kindly dropped me off on his way home. Once inside I bumped into Karen in the kitchen. She was making smoothies for my father and sister who were both sitting by the bush telly in the garden. "You okay sweetheart?" she asked sounding like my father. I took one look at her and attempted to talk but was swept off my feet by a dizzy spell. Karen luckily grabbed ahold of me and yelled for my father. The horror in her voice is something I will never forget. I was trying to gather myself enough to talk and stand, but my father carried me, bridal style, to the couch and had me lay there with my feet up for 15 minutes. Once I was stable enough to sit up on my own, I got a smoothie. Just what I needed after a long day. My father had noticed a purple tint to the colour around my hands, which raised his concern even more. A small trip to the ER and I was back home, more exhausted than ever.

One day he came home from work with one of the boys in blue on his heels and it was not Jordan. This was not out of the ordinary, but the look on his face said otherwise. He had dragged Quinno, a part time lifeguard and paramedic, into the living room. I greeted Quinno with a fist bump like we always had done. His smiled was contagious and it really set a positive mood in the room.

We made coffee, tea for me, and all sat down on the sofa for "a nice little chat" as my father called it. I honestly had no clue as to why I was dragged into a conversation with them and my confusion must had been obvious. Quinno said: "Daisy, I would like to tell you a story about a patient I had once." He had my attention there. As a med student I took every chance of hearing stories and getting intel. He went along with his story and it went something like this:

"On the job as a paramedic, I was called out to attend to a young female who had fainted in a supermarket. Once there she was sitting up and talking, which as you know is a good sign. We took some vitals and got her medical info. She had POTS and frequently fainted cause of blood pools in the lower half of the body. Her daily symptoms are lightheadedness, brain fog, fatigue and the occasionally discoloration of hands and feet," I remember my father looking at me at this point with a "sounds familiar" expression. "Her triggers are change in temperature, standing for longer periods of time and skipping meals."

After hearing his story, we called the doctors office and scheduled a talk. That talk went surprisingly well and they scheduled a bunch of tests such as a tilt table test and blood samples, just to rule out anything else. After a few weeks I got the diagnosis POTS at the age of 20. My dream of becoming a medic was shattered and so was my mental health. I spent day after day at home unable to drive, work or even be left alone in the house.

Both my friends, family and my father's works mates, who are just like family to me, all tried to cheer me up, but my mood couldn't be lifted for at least a couple of months.