On May 14, 2020, in the midst of a global pandemic, Jocelyn woke up to a reality she never could have imagined. It was her grandmother’s birthday—a day that always held deep meaning for her—but this time, something felt profoundly different. She couldn’t stand. The pain in her left leg was unbearable, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put pressure on it. The pain had started three days ago, but she convinced herself it was nothing.

She had been struggling to breathe for weeks, blaming it on her asthma. It was easy to dismiss, to rationalize, to push through. But deep down, something in her gut screamed that this was different. That morning, as she passed by her altar with her grandmother’s photo, the feeling grew stronger—almost as if her grandmother was urging her:

“You need to get help!”

The signs were everywhere. Her subconscious had even led her to start writing goodbye letters, just in case. Terrified, she knew she had to listen.

In the middle of a pandemic, she called an Uber to CityMed. When they told her she needed to get to a hospital, she pushed through the pain, hobbling a few blocks—never realizing that this moment, this decision, would save her life.

At first, the doctor barely acknowledged her symptoms, brushing off her concerns. Blood clots weren’t considered until she brought them up. Even then, there was hesitation. The doctor later admitted that if she hadn’t asked, he would have sent her home with just Advil. But something made him pause. He decided to run one more test, and when the results came back elevated, they sent her for a CT scan. That’s when everything changed.

The doctor returned, but this time, he knelt in front of her. Jocelyn knew, in that moment, that whatever he was about to say would alter the course of her life.

“You have bilateral pulmonary embolisms.”

Fighting for Her Life

She was admitted right away, surrounded by strangers in a world where even a hospital visit meant isolation. No visitors, no family by her side. Just her, a devastating diagnosis, and the unknown. Her husband, her greatest source of comfort, couldn’t be there. The pandemic had taken that away. He could only wait at home, anxiously hoping for updates while she faced the scariest moment of her life alone.

The doctors explained that the clots weren’t a single mass but had spread across both lungs, like buckshot. A terrifying reality, but also, in a way, what saved her. Had they formed as one solid blockage, she could have gone into immediate cardiac arrest. It was a strange, sobering twist of fate. She was fighting for her life, but at least she had a chance to fight.

Coming home should have been a relief, but instead, it was a new kind of battle. Simple movements left her heart racing, a terrifying reminder that her body was not the same. Walking across the room felt impossible. And worst of all was the fear—the constant, unshakable fear—that at any moment, something could go wrong again.

“No one tells you about the PTSD. The way every twinge in your body makes you wonder if it’s happening again. No one prepares you for that.”

For months, she felt trapped inside her own body. The worst part was that no one had warned her recovery would feel like this. The pain in her leg could last for years, yet no one mentioned it. Medical trauma left scars that weren’t visible, but cut just as deep.

She had always thought blood clots were something that happened after serious accidents or major injuries. Never in a million years did she think she’d experience something so life-altering. But there she was, trying to navigate a world that suddenly felt unsafe, in a body she no longer trusted.

Through it all, she learned to advocate for herself.

“Medical gaslighting is real. Especially for women. We’re told, ‘You’re fine,’ even when we know we’re not. If I hadn’t pushed for answers, I wouldn’t be here. I shudder to think about that.”

The Strength to Keep Going

Some days are better than others. The thrombolytic pain in her leg still flares up, reminding her of what she’s survived. But on the hardest days, she holds onto a simple truth:

“I remind myself that good days are ahead.”

One thing that helped her find her way forward was something small, yet powerful—her oracle cards (The Illustrated Herbiary Oracle Cards, Maia Toll). Each day, she would pull a card, letting it guide her mindset. The first card she pulled after coming home? Perseverance. A dandelion—a flower that grows anywhere, even in the harshest conditions, through concrete, against all odds.

That card became her symbol of survival. It reminded her that even in the worst circumstances, she could still grow. She could still push forward. Each morning, she and her husband pulled a new card together, finding meaning in the words they received. It was a way to live with more intention, to reflect, to remind herself that she was still here, still fighting, still healing.

Sharing Her Story to Help Others

Jocelyn shares her story not for sympathy, but to raise awareness. Too many people hesitate to seek help, fearing they’ll be a burden. We avoid going to the hospital, thinking, “What if it’s nothing?” But what if it’s something? What if ignoring it costs you your life? Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

“If my story helps one person realize that what they’re feeling is normal, it’s worth it.”

Jocelyn is more than a survivor—she’s a teacher, a fossil collector, a book lover, a consultant, and a gardener. Every Monday, she shares her passion for plants by hosting free online gardening sessions. If you’d like to join, I’ve provided the link here.

She’s living proof that even when life turns upside down and the road ahead feels impossible, you can get through it. If you’re navigating the aftermath of a blood clot and feeling lost in fear and uncertainty, know that you are not alone.

You will get through this. You will get to the other side. And when you do, you’ll realize just how strong you truly are! Jocelyn

A huge thank you to Jocelyn for sharing her powerful story with me. She’s the first of many inspiring blood clot survivors I’ll be featuring in my healing photography project, and I’m truly honored. I hope her story not only inspires you but helps you heal a little and feel seen. You can make it to the other side. If you’re in the NYC area and want to participate, reach out to me at maria.carrillo@lensthroughmec.com. Let’s continue to inspire, heal, and be heard together!

Always,
Fellow survivor and thriver MEC