Boys in Blue...and some pink

Yesterday.

Physio.

We were picked up by the Hamiltons (shocking, right?). I'm always downstairs when they get here. Not yesterday. My crusty lungs decided to be even crustier. 

Again...

Every. Step. Like. This.

I'm pretty sure their SUV was parked in British Columbia.
Around the following Thursday we made it to the vehicle and were on our way. Best part of the day came a few minutes later.

Every woman has her thing. Some prefer doctors, some lawyers, some firefighters and some of us prefer...the boys in blue.

We were almost to the hospital; stopped at a red light. I gaze out the window...wowzas. I'm not really sure how many there were, but there were at least 6 of Toronto's finest on bicycles. I, draped in O2 cannula, immediately rolled down the window and said "Hiiiii".

And stared. Goofy smile intact. (Brad - it was all very innocent.)

Then Carman, sporting a full blown oxygen mask, rolls down his window in front of me and sticks his face out and says hello.

They likely thought we were some kinda gang.

Physio was tough. I breathed, walked, tried to breathe, walked, tried not to fall down on the spinning tread, coughed, tried to breathe, coughed, walked, took a few breaks, but made it through the treadmill.

Are you aware that, at one time, treadmills were used as a form of punishment for inmates?? Not cool.

I was still PO'd at the bike, so I wouldn't even go near it and my body was in no way going to go through the torture of the dreaded box steps. That exercise should be outlawed. Just sayin'.

Best part of the day was when Mark's daughter, Jessica, gave me a blueberry cheesecake made by her mom Diane. The Hamiltons got one too; although it only had Pamela's name on it, so Carman - you outta luck buddy. It was delicioso Diane!!! Muchas gracias!!!

This really worked the biceps

The most exciting thing that happened last night involved us wheeling to the grocery store, after the park and with the G-man on my lap, to get a roasting pan for our turkey dinner. We saw a couple of park friends on the way back that asked if we were going to roast Griffin (as both he and the pan were on my lap).

Bonnie cleared that up by advising them, "It's her bedpan".

Last night's adventure in lalaland didn't go exactly as planned. I kept waking to cough, which turns into trying to catch my breath. When I woke in the morning I was even worse. I had nightmares of being drug to the ER. 

I just couldn't breathe.

I crawled out of the room and sucked back my aerosols. Thankfully, I felt better; I could breathe without looking and feeling like I was in the middle of some sort of torturous marathon. However, due to the persistent (but glamourous) coughing during the night, my body was screaming and my eyes were shutting. I hauled my weary body into bed and was told later I slept through Bonnie swiffering my room.

The two of them could've belted out campfire songs and wielded a jackhammer in there and I wouldn't have woken. 

What did it was a tall hazelnut blonde. They felt that it would perk me up and be enough to bribe me to make the dreaded phone call. You know...the call to the CF clinic.

I went to clinic, forced out a few breathing tests, learned I lost a couple of % points, and was put on a new antibiotic. As I've practically been on every kind of antibiotic since I've moved here, if this doesn't work the only thing left is IV's.

I have all the confidence in the world that these ones will work. Why you ask? Because they are pink.

That's all I got.