Part 1 of The Resurrected Killer: Gavin MacKinnon

FOREWORD

     This is going to be a 2 or 3 part topic, first will be the set up of my injury, second will be the after effects physically and mentally, and finally will be the wrap up.  I don't generally like to talk about myself as a 'hero' or 'special', but on the last night of Pennsic, someone I respect immensely in and out of the Society told a story of a warrior whom suffered a grievous injury after hard years of practice and how they made a come back that is viewed as truly epic.  It does sound heroic and it is special... but it is only half of the story.  It is the part of the hero... but there is another part.  The story of the regular man.  This is a special part. This is the part I saw, that I don't think I let anyone else see. The part that makes me say to myself, "I am no hero. I am what I think my friends are. I am a regular guy doing what I think a regular guy does in this situation."
     Those sections that I concealed or weren't openly visible to others... they are the parts of the story that he did not tell and are the parts that need to be told because it is something that only a person who has directly been through a life altering injury and had to fight the emotional portion of that injury that many people don't see or go through... the things and people that rip them down and make them cry, the people or things around them that build their will and fuel their desire to build back up. Only the visible path taken to the achievement is seen, not the internal battle.  I would like to share that internal battle... not to brag or make myself more than I am, but because I realized: I stand in a group that may, just possibly, be even smaller than the small brotherhood of warriors that Easterners call "Unbelted Champions".
     I would like someone who may be walking the path that I have walked this past 2 years to know that they are not alone. There are other people who have walked this path. There will be others who will walk this path... and each path is uniquely the same and different at the same time, but we are here walking it with our own scars, fears, and dreams.

--the Resurrected Killer, Gavin MacKinnon

     As many people know, this past week was Pennsic War.  Traditionally, this is my vacation. It is a week where I go and live in a tent and forsake technology that is anything more modern than a grill or porta-john... most of the time I even leave my glasses behind. I dress in my funny clothes, meet a bunch of new people, walk around , listen to or watch performers singing or juggling or what it is they do to entertain, and browse at various baubles, armors, weapons, and clothing.  Some-times, I even buy things.
     I also fight. This aspect is what drew me into the SCA originally and outside of the friendships that have come through the years, continues to be the major draw for me some 15 years later.  I strap on armor, pick up weapons made of rattan and wrapped in duct tape, stride onto a field boasting some 1,000+ combatants and become a warrior of yore for a few hours each day.  Of this group of combatants, some small number (ranging anywhere from 60-90) each year, are given the honor of representing the primary kingdom of 1 of the 2 armies in attendance. These fighters generally distinguish themselves through the spring and early summer events as being 'stone cold killers' on the battle field and, if they go to Pennsic, may be named to the Unbelted Champion team of their kingdom.  It is a great honor and a hard road. The feeling is indescribable and the day is so intense that in its own way defies explaining.  This is what I try for every year, to be named to this team so I can serve the Kingdom of the East to the best of my abilities with the skills I have learned from my betters over the previous year. To pour the energy of my entire being into a 90 second battle and demonstrate that their teachings have not been in vain, to give glory to my King, my Queen, my brothers on the team, and to the populace... and least of all.. to feel like I have not sat idle for the past year.

August 7, 2016. Morning of the Unbelted Champions Battle at Pennsic

     I stood, silently waiting for the moment when the Captain of the Unbelted Champions team would read the names of the people who would be taking the field this day.  This was my fourth time standing here awaiting this honor so I was no stranger to it, but this time was different, I reflected on the road that had led me back to this point. This post is a time line of just about everything that happened.. and in a way, that reflection as I spent the moments awaiting Angus to read my name... and the shock of hearing what he said...

August 2014, Morning of the Unbelted Champions 2 years prior

I stood listening for my name to be called by the Captain of the Unbelt team. This year was 'real'. It was East vs. Mid Unbelts, no alliance. My name was called, the tabard put on, our song was sung, the Queen demanded victory. We, loyal subjects to the man, delivered. Crushing the Midrealm team with brutal levels of efficiency. I was called onto the field for a mini-court in front of The King and Queen and receieved a very special award.  I was inducted into the  Order of the Tyger's Combatant. War was a blur to me and the next few months as I redoubled my training efforts to avoid losing any momentum in my skill gains... I was now an OTC and an Unbelt... by some accounts, the pinnacle of a non-chivalric warrior. I was honored that my brothers felt that I was at such a level to be given my OTC and did not want to sit on my accomplishments.

December 21, 2014. Iron Bog Heavy Fighter Practice

     I noticed my authorization card was about to expire, so being the generally rule abiding fighter of the SCA that I am, I decided to get qualified to continue being allowed to fight on the SCA fields at events. I go to the practice, and have marshals watch me fight with sword and shield, then 2 swords, pole arm, and finally spear against another opponent and then proceeded to do pick up fights - general fights simply for getting practice.  During a great weapon fight, I took a step in to throw a shot and my opponent ducked and spun out of the attack.  Their weapon caught me behind my right knee and pulled me off my feet. I fell down, took a second to gather myself up and we went back and did a few more bouts. No big deal, right? Right. The Knee was feeling a bit beaten up.. but it was just hit with a stick so no surprises there. It wasn't the first time and sure wouldn't be the last time.

December 25, 2014. Christmas Day at my Mother's House

     The house I live in is small and 7 people were packed into the same room as the 400 degree stove. We were all awaiting the head of our family, my 75 year old mother to finish making her final touches on the food before announcing our dinner was ready for eating.  I was sweating, because that's what big, burly fighter types do in that type of setting, so I had opted to wear shorts. We ate at 1pm, did up the dishes, and opened the presents.  While sitting there my mother looked at me and stared at my legs for a few moments and then said something close to, "I think there's something wrong with your leg.  The calf looks really swollen."
     I shrugged it off and explained the hit I took and that I it was simply because it was irritated. I have arthritis and have had water retention issues in my knees for years because of being as big as I am, so I was working on the belief that the hit had simply irritated things like so many other hits had done in the past.  Plus, I worked in a factory and I was on my feet for 8+ hours a day.  I got the evil mom eye and nothing more was said. because arguing on Christmas day is forbidden in my house out of respect of the memory of my father who passed on in 2006 (undoubtedly from being nagged to death by my mother... although the doctors said it was lung cancern that did him in).

January 2, 2015. My Job at the time

     I was still wearing my knee brace because my knee was bothering me. It was still swollen and sore. Mom had made it her mission to mention the swollen calf again and again ever since she had noticed it. I was at work doing the hustle. Like all bosses the world over, my boss was never happy unless you were moving at full speed and sweating.  I was breathing hard and I kept not quite being able to catch my breath.  The work wasn't overly difficult, but given the pace, I wasn't too concerned.  I coughed occasionally and it seemed that my breathing would even out for a few minutes.  I believed I was getting a cold. They always settle in my chest and I always walk around work coughing and wheezing for a week or two.

     I noticed a coworker with a bag of hall's and bummed a few from him for the day and they seemed to help. That night I stopped at the local CVS, picked up my over the counter treatment aids consisting of Advil, Dayquil, Nyquil, and Halls drops, and drove home to start self administering my treatment... BUT... I called around and found a local doctor that was accepting new patients. I set up an introductory appointment and arranged to have my medical files moved from my retired family doctor down to the new one.  I'm not 20 years young anymore, and I figured eventually I would need a doctor nearby that knew what the score was when I finally started to wear down and decided I needed to go to one a bit more regularly.

January 3, 2015. My 'shop'

     I had a metal working project or 5 and was feeling kinda good, so I went out to work on it. I dished out 2 footballish shaped metal plates to make the top of a helm.  Normally this task took only a matter of an hour or so, but I couldn't catch my breath.  I'd swing the 5 pound raw hide sledge a few times and I'd be at the point of blacking out, gasping for air like I'd just been hauled up out of a pool and my lungs were burning. I felt like I was going to throw up and black spots danced across my vision.  My chest felt like my heart was going to plow through my rib cage at some point.  I had stabbing pains occasionally when the whole thing would hit the climax... and I'd sit there and breathe and after a few minutes I'd return to feeling normal.

     I realized something was wrong.  I began to think about things.  The congestion hadn't occurred like it normally did when I got sick and yet I still wasn't able to breathe when I was exerting myself. When I was sitting I felt like I was just shy of breathing normally... I wasn't out of breath, but I was constantly feeling like I was walking up a flight of steps and my breathing wasn't quite at a 'resting' rate. Mom was now mentioning that she didn't like how I was breathing and my calf was still a pretty common 'random' comment every few hours.

     Something was wrong and I knew something I could do to try and figure out what was really going on.  I sat down at my pc and started searching for my symptoms... result #1: heart attack. Nope... it was NOT a heart attack. I KNEW it wasn't and at that exact moment I would have bet... indeed, unbeknownst to me, I DID bet my life on it that it wasn't a heart attack. Some more fishing returned chronic ailments that I was able to rule out because they either involved a family history or life long ailments.  Asthma?  possible... it sort of fit the bill... but the only 'trigger' I was having seemed to be exerting myself. It didn't quite fit at an instinctual level though.
     After searching for about an hour, my eyes skimmed the passages involving walking pneumonia... shortness of breath... more acute when exerting one's self.  Potentially no other symptoms.  I thought about it and decided that I wasn't a doctor and would just keep a close eye on myself and if things went south, I had my cell phone and a car. I could call 911 or be at an ER in 20 minutes either with myself or my mother driving.

January 5, 2015. My house, Urgent Care Center, Virtua Hospital

     I got up. I had sat in my computer chair all night. I wasn't able to catch my breath by just sitting and resting any more. Laying down was not an option. My lungs completely closed up laying down. I wasn't congested in the usual sense of the word, no symptoms other than not being able to breath. Something was definitely wrong and it was time to get a medical evaluation and some type of treatment plan formulated.

     I got up at 5am, ate my breakfast slowly, got ready for work slowly.. panting and wheezing my way around my house as I got myself together. I felt too crummy to go in, was too tired... but I didn't want to admit that I couldn't do it. I was determined to get to work at 6am, and when I realized it was 545 and that I hadn't even made it to my boots yet... I acknowledged defeat. I couldn't put my boots on. I didn't have enough air flow to lace and tie them. I picked up my phone, and sent a text to my boss since talking wasn't an option.

     I sat back down in my chair and watched the time pass slowly as I dozed and waited for the doctor's office to open.  At 9am, I called and was immediately put on hold.  20 minutes or so later on, someone finally answered and I talked with them. Told them I hadn't had my initial visit, but was in trouble and they went and checked for openings... to see if I could be fitted in at any point during the day.

     The polite lady on the phone told me that they simply could not get me in. They were severely overbooked, and that they recommended an urgent care facility near me... which turned out to be twice as far away as the hospital.  So, since the word 'poor' is an apt financial descriptor of my wealth... I drove over to the urgent care center.  I went in and the walk from my truck to the front door, (some 10-15 car widths total) took me almost 10 minutes and my chest felt like it was going to burst on me.
     They jumped me to the front of the line, no paperwork.. right to a machine and vitals were taken.  The tech looked at the machine, got up and walked out. A moment later, another tech came in and looked at the machine again and told me that they were calling an ambulance. I was 'having a heart attack'.  I KNEW I wasn't. I stressed that I wasn't in any way shape or form having a heart attack. No chest pain, no radial pain... nothing. I just couldn't catch my breath and if given a few minutes, I would even out. I refused the ambulance and told them I would drive my truck back to the hospital.  I saw the numbers. I knew I was headed there, but it would be under my own power.

     I went out to my truck and called my mom, told her I was headed to the ER.  The urgent care center had called ahead to make sure they knew I was coming in.  I'm sure they told them I was having a heart attack.  I made the drive over to the hospital and parked my car and then made another long walk to the registration desk.  They took 1 look at me and took me right in the back.  Set me up and checked my heart with a quick EKG.  They then listened to me and gave me a dose of prednisone and hooked up a nebulizer.  I did 2 quick treatments and my air ways felt like they'd opened up. I was left there for a while and then the process was repeated.  They kept monitoring my blood's O2 levels and kept discussing it.  While resting I wasn't getting much above 80 and when I'd stand up and move around it'd dip to as low as 40. During these low dips, they seemed to be surprised that I wasn't collapsing.  At these low points I wasn't able to do much more than shuffle slowly because I simply didn't have the airflow.

     Next came the X-rays of my lungs and the wait for them to be read and for the doctor to make the time to tell me what was found... my breathing started to worsen and I was given more nebulizer rounds. Hours drug by. I had checked in around 1030 and now the shift change at 5 pm was coming.   The doctor came in and told me nothing had been found in my X-rays. My lungs were clean. They were sending me home and only had the release paper work keeping me there at this point and as soon as it was done, I could go home.  The customary warnings were given about if it worsened or new issues started to manifest to come back and check back in. I sat and waited. Mom had gotten there and sat there quietly.
     A different doctor came in, rambled on about being the shift change doctor and he'd reviewed my day's info. Then he said: "Just for shits and giggles, I want you to get a cat scan of your chest before you go."  I agreed, figuring it wouldn't make a difference, but at this point.. insurance would be paying a large chunk of this rather expensive bill... and it would give me peace of mind since nothing so far had been found.  So, a few minutes later I was rolled down the hall, given the injection, tossed into the machine and baked for a few minutes and then rolled back to my bay and prepared for another ridiculous wait.

     The ridiculous wait turned out to be 5 minutes.  The doctor himself was breathing kind of hard when he came into my little area and looked relieved when I was still sitting there in my hospital gown.  His next words were crushing and I doubt I'll ever forget them: "You aren't going anywhere. You have a blood clot in your lungs. We're moving you up to cardiac ICU."...

This post is already super long, but I don't want to break each section into multiple parts. Giving myself this 'maximum', I can limit the tale to the truly important things related to the story and keep on topic easier.  The next section will cover the time in the hospital, and the 17 months between the initial injury and making the decision to put armor back on.