In August of 2025, I found myself hospitalized with pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in the blood vessels of my lungs) after battling being out of breath, having an elevated heart rate, and just feeling overwhelmed (and being misdiagnosed with Asthma and then POTS) since March. They gave me blood thinners and said I’d be fine in a few weeks. Things did get better. For a brief moment. Before they got much, much worse. I found myself unable to walk from my car to my bedroom without collapsing on my bed. And reluctantly conceded I needed to go back to the hospital. Well unfortunately for me, after multiple ER visits, it was determined that I had developed CTEPH. It occurs when the blood clots in the blood vessels of your lungs turn into permanent scar tissue. And it was the reason I had severe pulmonary hypertension, and that my right heart ventricle pressure (+125mmHg) was 4x normal and twice the size it should be.

I can say now what I couldn’t then - I was pretty terrified.

Thank God, that a brilliant pulmonologist, Dr. Cole Liberator, diagnosed me with this condition as it typically takes 2 years to diagnose it. He told us to get to UCSD because they’re the best hospital in the country, if not the world, for the procedure I would need to cure it. After 8 days in the hospital waiting for insurance to clear the transfer, off I went in an ambulance in the middle of the night. UCSD confirmed the diagnosis, but the VQ scan write-up said that the scar tissue was so far down in the branches of my lungs (sub-segmental) that it was unclear (ie unlikely) whether they'd operate on me. My mom, dad, Missy, and I prayed, and cried, and prayed. What we didn't know for certain, but found out later, was that if they determined they couldn't operate on me, my life expectancy was 3-4 years. Yea, it was that serious.

And then a miracle. The write-up was amended. It was amended to say that the scar tissue was actually primarily one level up (segmental) from the original write-up with some scar tissue at that initial level down. This small change meant they likely would operate on me. The next day the doctors came in and gave us the good news - the board reviewed my case and approved me for surgery. Phew, we were on our way. I’d have surgery in ~2.5 weeks. I knew it would be the gnarliest, most intense physical and mental challenge of my life (will get into that next), but I was ready to set up camp at the base of Mount Everest and start the climb.

The surgery. PTE surgery is an especially rare (there are ~350 done in the US every year) and challenging open heart surgery where they put you on a machine that breathes for you and pumps blood for you, basically outsourcing your heart and lungs. And then they cool your body to 65*. They do this because they need to turn off that machine that’s keeping you alive beating and breathing for you, for 25min at a time while they go in and meticulously take out all of the scar tissue for as long as it takes, in my case ~2.5hrs.

Dr. Madani, the best PTE Open Heart surgeon in the world did my surgery. And it was a success. However, it wasn’t without complications. The day after my procedure, while I was still intubated they noticed 2 liters of blood had backed into my abdominal cavity. And they eventually made the decision to open me back up to fix the problem (something done on only ~15 PTE patients in the US every year), which they didn’t know what the exact problem was at the time, only that there was a a problem. What we didn’t know at the time was that I had a >50% chance of dying, having a pretty massive stroke, or another major health issue(!) from the complication. But God and the incredible, awe-inspiring team at UCSD saved me. They cauterized the bleed (from my breastbone) and sent me back to my room in the ICU to recover, still intubated.

I’d be intubated for a total of 5 full days before they took me off and brought me back to life. I wish I could accurately describe the experience but I'll sum it up as feeling like being reborn. And I’m so thankful Missy was there soothing me through the process with her calm voice. I will literally always remember that. But of course, I wasn’t out of the woods yet. For starters, I couldn’t talk! I could think and wanted to talk but because of all the downers I had been on, the endotracheal tube injuring my vocal cords, and a bunch of other reasons, I literally couldn’t speak. After a few hours a few words came out. The next day a few more. And little by little I was back to full sentences.

Later that first day, in the early evening, one of the doctors came in and told me I wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and if I didn’t get more he’d have to put me back on the intubator. I asked how I could get more oxygen. He said I needed to walk around. Well, I could barely sit up, but that’s all I needed to hear. The next day I hobbled with my walker around the floor 3x, surprising pretty much everyone as I dragged my feet through the hospital hallways. Everyone except Missy, my mom, and dad who were all there and knew when you tell me I can’t do something or that I need to do something to get what I want, well that’s all the motivation I need to do it. And I was not going back on the intubator.

The next few days entailed learning how to walk and eat again. Yea, really. I had to re-learn how to walk and eat. And of course, this wasn't without another incident. When I walked the next day with the OTs they told me that I was pulling to the left and wasn't responsive. They feared I had had a stroke. Oh, man... I knew I hadn't (at least I strongly hoped I hadn't, as I could still barely talk). But nonetheless, I was off to the CT scan to check. Thankfully, the scan came back negative. Phew. That would have been rough.

After surviving on ice chips for 3 days I was finally allowed to eat (after passing the eating test, which was another wild experience)! From there I walked a little more and ate a little more and got a little more of the wires in my body out of my body each day. Until finally, I was given the great news that I could go home! I’d have to come back 2 more times over the next 2 weeks to ensure I was truly okay. But that was a tiny price to pay - I was free! Free to get home and see my kids! That had been my North Star the entire time I was in the hospital. And I was finally on my way home (weighing 151lb, ~20lb less than my normal "playing" weight).

I got home. Saw my kids. And was so happy. And then nearly immediately was intensely and severely depressed. I sobbed uncontrollably in my bed for a half hour. When I came to I needed to ask ChatGPT why this happened. And found out I had been carrying the burden of getting home to my kids in my heart - and I was in fight or flight survival mode for the last 2 weeks in the hospital. This was my body finally releasing it. And man I felt so good after. Being home with my kids, even though I was still in so much pain, felt incredible.

And well… the rest as they say is history.

Two months of getting slightly better each day. Two months of being so appreciative at this second lease on life. Two months of loving every bit of life. And I hope this feeling never goes away. I intend to hold onto it. We all should.

I didn't come back fragile. I came back awake and alive.

Once you’re coming back from an experience like that, fighting to get back to your family. Man, it changes everything. But it doesn’t have to be the catalyst. Appreciate what you have - your life. Here. Is a miracle. Shine your light bright. Do you. And enjoy it. I know I will.

All love. Always. Appreciating every bit of this life.