After a near-fatal blood clot, a firefighter-paramedic confronts fear, recovery, and the question of who she is when the job that defined her is suddenly out of reach
How do you communicate fear, denial, and the loss of identity?
In April 2025, I went dancing with my friend, Jeremy. While we were dancing, my left calf started to hurt, and my leg began to swell. Jeremy asked if I needed to leave. I told him, “No, my leg bothers me all the time.” I had ruptured a tendon at work and had been in pain ever since. I told him, “I came to have a good time, and that’s what I’m going to do. I just need to walk it off.” We walked around the dance floor, sat down, then danced again.
When I got home that night, my leg was swollen and a little discolored. The next morning, it was still swollen and slightly discolored, but I had a doctor’s appointment in a couple of days and didn’t want to go to the emergency room. Later that night, I went out to watch a band with my friend, Crystal. I said, “Look at my leg.” She told me it looked like I had a blood clot. I replied, “Yeah, I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.” She kept telling me I should go to the emergency room. I told her no. She said, “You’re going to end up with bilateral PEs and in the ICU.”
A PE is a blood clot in your lungs, which, as it sounds, is not a good thing. I joked, “You’re going to feel bad when that happens to me.” We laughed.
The next morning, my leg was swollen and purple. I called the doctor for an earlier appointment. The only appointment they had interfered with was my daughter’s dietitian appointment. She had been diagnosed with Celiac disease, and we had been waiting for that appointment for a long time. I didn’t want to miss it. She was struggling, and I needed to support her. So, I drove to the hospital to ask a friend of mine, a doctor, to look at my leg. I said, “Check this out. Do you think I’ll be okay until 4? I have an appointment.”
He said, “I think you have a blood clot.”
I said, “I do too. Do you think I’ll be okay until 4?”
Denial Has a Sense of Humor
Keep in mind, I’m a paramedic. I knew I could have died from this. But at the time, that didn’t cross my mind. I was worried about my daughter making her appointment and avoiding a huge medical bill. My friend tried to help me get an ultrasound started. I left, went home to attend my therapy appointment, and waited for my doctor to issue an ultrasound order. During therapy, I told my therapist what was going on. She asked about the consequences. I said, “Oh, it could **** me up.” She tried to convince me to go to the hospital. I told her I would once I had an order—and that if my doctor called, I needed to answer. I got the call.
They placed the ultrasound order with a location more than an hour away, which wasn’t a good idea. Traveling that far could have made everything worse. So, I called back and had them send it to the hospital near me. While I waited, I painted my toenails. I can’t stand my feet without nail polish. What didn’t cross my mind was that nurses would need to check my cap (capillary) refill. I had painted my toenails black; bad choice. Once I got the order, I drove myself to the ER.
Before that, I called my daughter and asked her to go to my mom’s for her appointment. She sounded upset. It broke me — but I didn’t want to scare her, so I kept everything to myself. By the time I got to the hospital, my leg was so swollen I couldn’t straighten it. I realized I probably shouldn’t be walking. If you saw it, you would have thought, “How is she walking?’ While checking in, an X-ray tech I know came over. I showed her my leg and asked if she could wheel me to ultrasound. She joked, “Are you sure you don’t want to go straight to the ER?” We laughed, but she was serious.
In ultrasound, the tech asked, “Do you know what your doctor wants if it’s positive?”
I said, “The ER. He’s ortho — he’s not going to do anything.” She barely touched my leg with the probe and said, “Well …”
I said, “I know. How bad is it?”
She said, “It’s pretty bad.”
When the Joke Stops Being Funny
They wheeled me straight to the ER. The ER was packed. They started my IV and medication while I sat in a wheelchair. Once I got a room, I called Crystal and asked her to bring me food. I realized I hadn’t eaten, and it was after 1. I told her I had a DVT, and it was bad — they were transferring me. She showed up with coffee, my favorite cheesecake, and a wrap. I laughed and asked if she felt bad about the ICU comment. She said yes. I told her, “Don’t. I thought it was funny.”
Some of the guys from the fire department came to see me. That meant a lot to me, more than they’ll know. One of them wheeled me to the bathroom door. I said, “I bet you never thought you’d be doing this.” I had already called my kids and told them I was being transferred to another hospital. I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. My sons came with clothes. My daughter asked if she should come. I said, “If you want to.” I regret that now. What if I had died? I wanted to spare her. I knew she was upset about her appointment. It’s hard to see your mom in the hospital. I spent many hours in the hospital with my mom when I was a kid, it scares you. I realize now that was not the right choice. If I didn’t make it home, that would have stuck with her for life.
Eventually, they put me on a helicopter. I took pictures and sent them to my friend Becky, one of the nurses. She asked if I was worried. I said, “Yeah — but it’s pretty up here.” Even then, I hadn’t really processed that I could die. While waiting for surgery, I started to worry I might lose my leg. It was purple, swollen, and I couldn’t feel a pulse in my foot. That’s not a good sign.
The surgery was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced. It felt like they were ripping the inside of my leg out. I remember crying and telling the nurse, “I know you’ve given me a lot of pain medication, and you’re probably worried about my blood pressure, but it’s not working. I’m in so much pain. I’m going to try to sleep.”
Losing Control
My son, Dominic, came to see me. I remember looking at his face — fear, horror, sadness. I’ll never forget that. I finally fell asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom, forced to use a bedpan. That broke me. I couldn’t go. The nurse said, “I’m sorry, you can’t get up.” I said, “Then I guess I’ll wait because my body is like, ‘You are not peeing in the bed.’’ Eventually I had no choice. I cried the whole time. It was humiliating.
The next day, the doctor came in. I told him I was supposed to hike the Grand Canyon the next week. He looked at me like I was insane and said it wasn’t happening. Another doctor told me I might need blood thinners for life. If that happened, I couldn’t be on the fire truck. That meant losing the career I had worked so hard for. I had a meltdown. I couldn’t imagine my life without the fire service. It was who I was. Without it, I didn’t know who I’d be, how I’d survive, how I’d support my family. I felt lost.
I texted Jeremy to make light of the situation, saying, “I was in the hospital, almost lost my leg.” Then I joked about sending him pictures of my leg and claiming it was his fault, thinking he would realize I was joking. I found it funny, hilarious actually. If you haven’t noticed by now, humor helps me process or deflect. But he’s traumatized. I think he’ll bring it up for life.
I slept for four days. When they asked if I was ready to go home, I stayed one more day. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax at home. My friend Tina picked me up. Walking into my house was overwhelming. There was so much to do. I missed my kids. I was grateful to be alive, to be home, and to still have both legs, but reality hit hard.
The paperwork never stopped. My daughter was graduating high school the next month. That had to be perfect! My kids had no idea what I’d been through. They didn’t know I just needed help. I didn’t tell them or ask.
I thought I’d be back to work by Monday. I was wrong. I was out for about a month, and still exhausted when I returned. I called my friend Marla, and in her words, I said, “I just got out of the hospital. I almost died. Do you want to go for a walk?” I laugh when she tells this because it sounds so nonchalant, I went back to work on light duty.
Who Am I Without the Job?
A year later, I’m still on light duty. That’s something people don’t talk about enough. Going from raising three kids and working multiple jobs to being stuck in an office, not making enough to pay bills, doing work I hate, unable to go to the gym — my outlet, my peace. I was going crazy sitting around all the time.
I will say this: I have been able to do some things at work that I like. It has opened my eyes to the fire marshal’s role and how much good you can do with that. I also discovered my love for Pilates. I am actively working toward becoming a Pilates instructor. I made more time for dance, which has brought me joy. I’ve enjoyed the extra time with my kids. I wish I would have had that all along. It wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, but it was the first time I felt like I lost my identity.
A month later, I was cleared to work out. A week after that, my calf was killing me again, worse than ever before. The doctor brushed it off. I switched doctors and found out I had a calf muscle tear and the blood thinners made it worse. One blood thinner was stopped due to a hematoma in my calf, which set me back. Then my ankle swelled and bruised — no injury. Another doctor. Another diagnosis: a tendon tear. Opposite leg. Possible surgery, what next? I was devastated.
At the same time, I needed an MRI of my breast, which had been delayed because of surgery. I had to wait weeks. I remember thinking, “What the fuck else?” When you’re out of work — or forced into a different role — you find out who supports you and who doesn’t even know how to ask, “Are you OK?”
After a few months, I felt isolated. Like my work didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. I missed being part of the crew. But the truth was, I wasn’t part of the crew anymore. And that shift … it’s hard. I felt like I wasn’t even part of the department. There are a couple of people who made a huge difference for me this past year. I’ll always be grateful for them. And my kids are so strong!
Managing Doubt
Now I’m close to returning to work, and my head is loud. Will I be welcomed back? Will anyone even notice? Can I pass? I’m nowhere near where I was physically. Do I have the mental strength to fail — and keep trying? Do I even want to go back? Can I handle the schedule again? Don’t get me wrong, I know I can. The hard part is quieting those thoughts. Sometimes they are louder than my strength. But I choose to remind myself that hard times equal growth as long and you keep moving forward. One day, one step, one minute, sometimes one second at a time.
I remember standing there while the guys did rope training — my favorite — and I wasn’t allowed to join. I tried not to cry. I couldn’t hide it every time. Then our town flooded. People needed help everywhere. And I was stuck shoveling mud while others were in the creek searching for cars … for bodies. I felt useless.
That weekend, I was working at the hospital. It was slow, so I asked if I could go help the fire department with the flood. The chief told me to stay where I was. I felt stuck. Helpless. Some people came in from New York and Texas for the floods. I helped them a little, and for the first time in a long time, I felt some purpose. Then they left, and life went back to normal.
Will I get my purpose back? Or has it changed? One day in therapy, it hit me how serious it had all been — how blind I had been. I told my therapist, “That day I was talking to you … that could have been a bad day for you and my kids. I could have died.”
She said, “I think you would have ended two careers that day.” I laughed — but I’ll never forget that. She was right. It would have been awful. It’s important to slow down. To think about what actually matters. It’s unfortunate that it takes something like this for people like me — for first responders — to realize it. I called it a forced slowdown.
A New Perspective
I’ve sped back up, trying to stay afloat, but I see things differently now. The little things matter. I’m trying to hold onto that, even if I’m not great at it yet.
When I first started therapy, I felt ashamed. Like I was broken. Like I failed. But I knew if I didn’t do something, my life would fall apart. Talking about it now — that’s growth.
I will mention it is important to find the right therapist. Someone fitting for your personality. I reached out to a psychiatrist that told me several times she would schedule me. She never did. I wanted to tell her, “If you don’t have time, don’t offer.” What if I had offed myself? I didn’t.
I hope sharing my story will help someone else. To the families: try not to take the terrible jokes literally. I also joked with some of my close friends at work. Saying, “Could you imagine me with a prosthetic leg? I would use it as a weapon.” I am not a violent person, it was a joke. They also thought it was funny.
If it wasn’t for a few special people, I don’t know that I would have. I believe things happen for a reason. If I had gone on that Grand Canyon trip … I wouldn’t have come home. I would have hugged my kids, kissed them goodbye, thinking I’d be gone two days — and that would’ve been it. I never wanted to be a firefighter. But I wouldn’t change it now. The fire service picked me. And there has to be a reason for that — even if I don’t know what it is yet.
