You're never too old for a babysitter

I'm on my own.

Brad left for Liam's wake and funeral. My heart is with him.

He took the G-man out really early so I wouldn't be rushing as soon as I got up. When I woke, I immediately filled my O2 tank and did my aerosols. By that time I figured I was invincible and strutted out the door with Griffin.

(Strut: to walk with a vain, pompous bearing, as with head erect and chest thrown out, as if expecting to impress observers)

Whoooooooaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Did someone sneak into my bedroom and attach a life-sucking, energy-extracting apparatus to my body while I was sleeping?

Every. Step. Felt. Like. This.

Every. Breath. Felt. Like. This.

To top it off, my red umbrella fell out of my O2 cart while I was crossing the street. If it weren't for the kindness of a stranger, I would have had to start directing Toronto traffic. The good news is that I do have somewhat of a commanding presence as I'm built like a pool noodle.

Thankfully, Marta, one of our park friends, came out shortly after I did and helped me out. As of course, Griffin would chose the furthest possible dumping spot from me - approximate distance, 100km. 

It's crazy how I can feel so good sometimes. Sometimes I even feel like I don't deserve to be listed. I look around at all my fellow transplant 'waitees' and I feel so guilty and it rips at my heart that I can't give them all new lungs.

Then I remember, I'm feeling good because I haven't done anything. I haven't exerted any energy. I'm sitting in a chair on the balcony, or on the couch watching tv. I'm having a good day.

The tide turns very, very quickly when I attempt to have a shower, make the bed, use my brain (did I really just type that??) or take my furry boy outside.

Then I think, okay maybe I do deserve to be here. Maybe I do deserve new lungs. Maybe, just maybe, even as much as everyone else here. We are all fighting a similar fight. We all just want to simply live. Live longer. Live a better life. A healthy life.

So maybe I need to listen to all those voices (Brad, Red, Pamela, doctors, etc) and stop thinking I don't deserve it as much.

We all have something though, right? We're all a bit screwed up. For instance, some people like to pretend that the paparazzi watch their every move (teeth brushing included). Some like to pretend that certain red kicks make them some sort of superhero. Some like to pretend that being crowned princess, in the park, on her birthday, really does make her a princess.

All kidding aside...who wants to mess with this

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I have to admit...I was babysat today.

I am all by my myself and can't be trusted to not rip around this city making trouble. And I had sooo much partying and random destruction planned.

Pamela and Carman picked me up and took me to physio. She's one demanding woman, wouldn't even hear of me walking from the entrance to physio. She can push a mean chair.

To be fair, I've been spending more and more time in the chair, as my body doesn't have the energy to move (either that or I'm lazy) and I was having a craptastic breathing day. So points to Pamela.

I did another 6 minute walk test today. I gave it like it be London. It was a little much when a crowd gathered and the tv crews came storming in. Next a podium appeared and then...something gold was shining so bright I lost visibility.

Back in June I walked 315 metres. Today I walked 277. So apparently the above story is a bit fallacious.

Keep training Squeegee.

Fact: Squeegee is a nickname given to me by my dad when I was just a sweet, innocent, charming little girl; just as I am now. Except I'm grown. Physically. And mentally some days.

I was really good today. Only got busted 340 times for talking during my workout. There is an unofficial rule at physio (devised by Pamela) that you need to be quiet to conserve energy for your regime. Makes sense. Except I tend to not conform. Plus I never shut up. So they made me pay:

Pssssssssst, it was Pamela's toonie

After physio, Carman bought me STARBUCKS. I figure he was trying to persuade me to be good. Much like you do with a child throwing a tantrum.

Then we picked up the G-man and headed back to Pamela and Carman's. Pamela and I took him for a walk while Carman stayed inside practicing his squatting technique. It was my very first stroll down the catwalk with a rollator:

The Rolls Royce of Rollators

Taking care of my boy

In all seriousness, thanks guys for babysitting! Brad will compensate you upon return.