A Face for Tv, but a Body for Radio: A Blood Clot’S Journey Through the Mind, Body, and Soul (And How It Changed Everything!)

By Steven A. Bové

In 2004, Steven Bov almost lost his life. He had been married barely five months, and his baffling medical emergency made his new wife fear that she was about to become his widow. When excruciating pain, first felt during a workout, pushed him from doctor to doctor without answers, the newlyweds feared the worst. Soon he found himself in intensive care with his life hanging in the balance. The reason soon became apparent: blood clots were ravaging his body and shutting down his lungs. Even though complications nearly cost him his leg and his life, he battled onward.

Ten excruciating days later, Steven emerged from the hospital a changed man. His near-death experience pushed him further down a path of self-discovery than he had ever been before. In the process, he discovered much about his body and his mind. The experience upended all of his previously held beliefs and had him questioning all that matters in life. His quest for harmonizing the mind, body, and soul had begun. The same blood clots that nearly took his life also saved himin ways no one expected.

The first part of this journey saw Steven and his wife, Jenn, moving from New Jersey to the west coast of Florida. Realizing how precious life is, they decided there was no more waiting for the right time to do things. The right time became now.

To this day, he pursues the now and takes nothing for granted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462035267

Steven A. Bové

STEVEN BOVÉ, CFP®, CFA®, MSFS, is a graduate of Saint Lawrence University. Steven considers himself a financial planner by day and a healer by night; finance is his vocation, and healing is his passion. He lives in Florida with his wife, Jenn.

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Copyright © 2011 by Steven A. Bové

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-3354-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-3353-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-3526-7 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910885

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/16/2011

Contents

Introduction

Mind

Body

Soul

And Beyond

Seeing, Believing

This book is dedicated to my loving wife.

Without her and her support,

this book wouldn’t be possible,

and neither would I.

Introduction

I didn’t think it was possible to be too sick to go to the doctor, but I was. I was so sick I risked my life rather than going to the one place that could save it. In doing so, I inadvertently joined a club: the near-death club. And, according to my wife, the too-dumb-to-go-to-the-hospital club.

Of course, if I was going to belong to any club that had death in it, near death was better than the alternative. Death wasn’t something I wanted to think about, let alone be near, especially at age thirty-five. But fate left me no other choice.

Now I know why they say married men live longer than single men. And it doesn’t just feel that way. Had I been single in March of 2004, chances are I wouldn’t be writing this today. Without my nuptials, I never could have joined the one club that mattered most: the finally-listened-to-his-wife club.

That became possible when, five fateful months prior to March, I got married. It was September 27, 2003. Beautiful day, beautiful bride, wonderful wedding. The next day we moved in together. As we adjusted to our new life, neither of us considered it wouldn’t last.

The possibility that Jenn would be a widow five months after saying I do never crossed our minds. We were prepared for clothes on the floor, shoes in the hallway, and cap off the toothpaste, but not for Steve in the morgue.

Why worry? There was no reason to. I was a healthy, active thirty-five-year-old. Getting married didn’t change that. For me, active meant exercise, and a lot of it. But we got married in the fall, and after our honeymoon, winter set in. Those cold days sent me indoors, to the gym. It was the gym that sent me to the hospital.

It was late February 2004, and I was on the elliptical machine. Out of nowhere, I felt a deep pain in my right groin. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push past it. The pain was so intense, I stopped my workout and headed home.

Things didn’t get better there. Within a few days, my groin pain was so severe that I needed crutches to walk. Groin pull on Wednesday, crutches by Friday. Needing crutches led me to my first doctor’s appointment; I went to see my chiropractor.

Steve, he said, I don’t see anything that would cause this much pain and discomfort, and I don’t know what is causing the swelling. Just because I don’t see anything doesn’t mean nothing’s there. There could be a tear. If you want to know for sure, you need to go for an MRI.

Not wanting to go anywhere except home, I left and told Jenn that Doctor Langdon didn’t find anything.

Let me get this straight, she said. First you hurt yourself and decide you’ll find out what’s wrong using the Internet. When that didn’t work and your leg started swelling, you decide to go to the chiropractor. And somehow because he ‘didn’t see anything,’ you think that means there’s nothing wrong?

Well, that’s what he said, I told her. If it makes you feel better, I’ll call Skip.

Skip is a friend and a doctor. Maybe he’ll give me medical clearance and assuage Jenn’s concerns. So I called.

Hey, Skip, what’s up? It’s Steve.

Hey, what’s going on? he said.

Nothing. Listen, is it okay if I bounce something off you? I asked.

Go ahead, ask away, he replied.

A few days ago, I felt a sharp pain in my groin at the gym. I tried to get past it, but I couldn’t. That was two days ago, and now I’m on crutches. My groin is really sore and my leg is a little swollen. I went to my chiropractor, and he told me I could have a groin pull or a tear. What do you think? I asked.

Well, without seeing you it’s hard to say for sure, he told me. But if you tore a groin muscle you could be laid up for weeks. I’d rest it as much as possible.

So there’s nothing to worry about, just a groin pull, maybe a tear? I asked.

Sounds like it, he responded. Athletes get them all the time, and they can be out of commission for months.

In my mind, that was medical clearance. There was no way I was going to the hospital now. I had a doctor tell me to rest, and that’s what I was going to do. I hopped downstairs and started resting.

Then, on top of everything else, I started getting flu-like symptoms. By Sunday I could barely get off the couch. Even peeing was problematic. In the time it took me to hop back and forth to the bathroom, I would get short of breath and start sweating. It had to be the flu.

Jenn didn’t see it that way.

Steve, this isn’t the flu, she insisted Something’s wrong with you. Look at you! Your leg is hot to the touch, it’s swollen and red, and now you get pale and hyperventilate every time you take a piss. You need to go to a doctor, a real doctor.

Jenn was right—my leg was in bad shape, and not being able to sit up had me concerned. I didn’t think I was physically able to sit upright for more than a few minutes, let alone hours, in the emergency room. That’s why I wouldn’t go to the hospital.

Two days later, I gave in. Jenn gave me an ultimatum. I was lying in bed when she came in. My leg was bright red, and it looked like it had doubled in size. Even worse, I was lightheaded and having trouble breathing. Maybe there is something wrong with me.

Jenn looked at me, completely exasperated, and said, I’ve seen enough. You have a choice. You can go to our family doctor or the emergency room. You pick.

She was done playing games. Her concern finally conquered my stubbornness. We were going to get help. But first I had a decision to make: family doctor or ER?

Doing the calculations in my head, I quickly realized I was in such bad shape that our family doctor would no doubt be sending me to the ER. Why bother with the middleman? Asking that question probably saved my life.

Okay, let’s go to the ER, I told her. But first make sure it’s covered.

I insisted Jenn call my insurance company and confirm that the hospital and visit were covered and in-network. Barely able to breathe, my main concern was financial. Almost out of patience, her main concern was me. She called.

I was covered, we were going. I hobbled downstairs to the car and almost couldn’t get in; my leg wouldn’t bend. And I was hot. My body was on fire and nothing was cooling me down, not even an open car window on a February morning.

After a near hallucinogenic fifteen-minute car ride, we pulled up to the ER, right in front of the entrance. Jenn jumped out and ran inside. She came out with a medical attendant. He had a wheelchair. Why is there a wheelchair? As I was helped into the chair and wheeled inside, all I could think was, Why is there a wheelchair? What did Jenn tell them? I’m not that bad.

But I was. I was wheeled past the front desk and immediately to a doctor. There was no paperwork because they thought I was going to die.

The doctor took one look at me and said, What is wrong with you? What took you so long to get to the ER? He was irritated, and I could tell that the thought of him losing a patient because of patient stupidity did not sit well with him.

I mumbled something back to him. Something having to do with the flu and a pulled groin. It wasn’t serious, just the flu and a pulled groin. I was delirious.

Then he turned to Jenn and said, Is your husband an organ donor and does he have his last will and testament in order?

When I heard that, I thought, Good. I’m in so much pain. Dying sounds better. Then I looked at Jenn.

Oh shit. Look at her face. I’ve never seen that look before. She’s terrified. We both thought I’d go to the hospital, get a prescription, and be sent home. Now a doctor is asking her if I needed to be kept alive so they can use my organs.

At that point, I felt worse for her than for me. I thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown right there, but she couldn’t. She had to keep it together. Every time the doctor asked me a question, he reflexively looked at her for confirmation.

As she fought back tears, we both watched him. He had my life in his hands. He was moving at a frenetic pace, and I got the sense I didn’t have much time. He examined my leg and asked if I was a hemophiliac.

I don’t know, I said. I don’t think so.

He glanced at Jenn. She wasn’t much help at this point either. She just shrugged her shoulders and wiped away a tear. She was biting her lower lip, clutching her cell phone, and staring at me. I know she was thinking, How do I tell his mother?

Look, the doctor said. I don’t have time to run tests right now. I’m 99 percent sure I know what’s wrong with you. You need heparin immediately. But before I can give you a blood thinner, I need to make sure you aren’t going to bleed out. It’s not pleasant, but it has to be done. Is that okay with you?

I shrugged, and with that he placed his finger in my ass then inserted a needle in my arm.

He gave me an update on what was happening. I’m giving you heparin right now—it’s a blood thinner. We need to dissolve what I believe is a massive clot in your leg. We have to hope it didn’t start breaking off. I also need to find out why you got the clot in the first place, so we need to run some tests. That should confirm my suspicion. A nurse is going to be with you at all times. Okay?

I nodded yes, and off he went.

I had my tests, and my nurse stayed by my side. I found out later she was there for one simple reason: my doctor thought I would code (go into cardiac or pulmonary arrest). I didn’t, and before long, I found myself resting in a hospital bed. That’s when my doctor told me what was wrong.

It’s what I suspected, he said. You have a very significant blood clot in your right leg. It’s called a deep-vein thrombosis or DVT. DVTs by themselves are not life-threatening. When they break off, they are. You were lucky. Some clots ended up in your lungs, but we caught them in time. Those, the pulmonary embolisms (PEs), are the ones we’re worried about. I’m going to keep you on heparin overnight and assess your progress in the morning. As for what started the clotting to begin with, you have Factor V Leiden, a blood-clotting disorder.

As the days passed, I would learn more about my blood-clotting disorder. Somehow this disorder started the clotting process but wasn’t able to reverse it. My clotting started but didn’t stop. With nowhere to go, the clots ran down my leg and ultimately broke off and headed to my lungs.

The most frustrating part of my diagnosis was the fact that no one could pinpoint the precipitating event: what caused the clotting to start. We knew it happened, but no one knew why it happened.

Getting that diagnosis was just the beginning of what would prove to be a long and painful odyssey. Once I was stable and my testing was complete, my first day in the hospital was over. When it was all said and done, I spent five days in the intensive care unit (ICU) and another five in the progressive care unit (PCU).

Once admitted, some of my first visitors were my doctor friend and his son. The most unusual part of their visit wasn’t the fact that Skip (through no fault of his own) had misdiagnosed me; it was his son’s demeanor. He stood there quietly next to his father, staring at me and barely moving. He was never still or quiet. His father, on the other hand, was fully animated.

Steve, I can’t believe what happened, he said. Now that I know you’re going to live, we can joke about it. The whole telediagnosis thing! This proves what a bad idea it is.

Yeah, Skip, I said. I guess it is.

I know it, he said. But the good news is that this is going to be a great ‘teachable moment.’ I’m going to use this example to train interns and other doctors.

Thanks, I said. That makes it totally worth it.

Somewhat oblivious to my sarcasm, he replied, And you know what else? This is DVT Awareness Month.

At least I can say I got a DVT during DVT Awareness Month. How many people can say that? Plus, my illness helped my friend’s medical career. To this day, Skip uses my case as a quiz for interns; a quiz they inevitably fail. When they do, he gets the opportunity to tell them about me and how a telediagnosis almost cost me my life.

Almost, but not quite. I lived, but living, it turns out, was