Like a sick animal, they want to run off somewhere and die in peace.
What's better than spending half the day in the ER???
I can't think of anything...
Wednesday night it was insanely humid. Heather and I took the G-man to the park, and by the time he had left his mark all over the place, I was a mess. Coughing (remember I'm the champ) and matching each step with a period of rest to lecture my lungs.
Honestly, I'm the boss of my body. Why won't they listen? Time out perhaps?
The humidity shot into my body and wrapped itself around my lungs and then squeezed as tight as it could...just to let me know it was more powerful than I am(I guess it isn't aware of my 3lb weight lifting).
The walk back was hard; each foot lift intensified my lack of O2. A very slow process; more of a granny shuffle. Once inside the condo I collapsed on the couch and sucked back my aerosols and felt mucho better.
Yesterday morning I woke and knew immediately that things weren't normal. I felt crusty. My lungs felt crusty. My breathing was crusty. I was tired, but not the kind of tired where you necessarily need more sleep, but an overall worn out kind of tired.
I staggered out to the couch and once again sucked back my aerosols. And once again I felt better.
It was a physio day. We eventually made it to the subway. Upon exiting the subway I resumed the granny shuffle. I wasn't really bad until I had made it through the hospital. There is a slight ramp to walk up to get to the physio room and after that I was in full blown Darth Vader mode.
I made it through my stretches and hauled myself onto the treadmill.
2 minutes. That's some kind of record. I will be famous for sure now, right?
I started at 1.7 (my usual speed), couldn't keep up without being flung off and into the stationary bikes at my back (although that would've been sweet as Carman was on one of them), dialed back to 1.5 and within seconds had to sit and remember how to breathe, when the physiotherapist called off the rest of my workout. However, she let me do some weights as I assured her I could handle it - me being a superstar and all.
Doctor Drill concluded that I should be admitted, given what happened in July (I went downhill faster than anyone ever in alpine skiing). He sent me to the ER at St. Michael's Hospital - which is the hospital where the CF team is and where I spent my last admittance.
5 hours later we got to walk (wheel) out the door. Yay!!!! My white blood cell count is high, indicating infection, so with the promise of agreeing to be admitted today if I'm worse, I was released with 2 puffers and 2 antibiotics.
I'll give you an idea of how starving I was while waiting for the doc last night:
|I ingested this...pretty sure that wasn't "chicken"|
|You can clearly see that I did my hair up all nice for the ER|