Dear Diary - i can't breathe . . .

Wednesday June 20, 2012 – Winter Solstice, I think


Today was not a good day. It could have been worse, although I am not sure how. Late in the afternoon the pain really started getting to me, which really sucked because I wasn’t doing anything but watching TV. First it was under my breastbone, then I thought I had a bladder infection and finally the hammer to beat all nails, my back started to kill.

So I took a shower to try and let my body reset itself, besides it would soon be time for my pain meds. But as I got out of the shower I suddenly realized I couldn’t breathe. No way to take a cough, no way to take a deep breath, the best I could do was pant like a dog. So with a towel over my shoulders, I collapse onto the bed on all fours and I must be breathing 100 times a minute, and I feel like dog s^&*! Pain still beating away, can’t catch my breath, and mom looks like she’s seen a ghost, but she goes and gets dad.

Dad’s not the brightest light bulb in the box, but he’s faithful like a Labrador Retriever, and he kneels beside me and asks the dumbest question, “So, how are you doing?” what is blind as well as stupid, I’m breathing like a racehorse after a mile and a half, I look like a scarecrow, I must be white like snow, and he’s asking how I’m doing. Too funny, if I wasn’t struggling to get my breath, I’d be ROFLMAO. My measured response, one word at a time between pants, “Something went wrong today” I then tell him about what happened and over time I start to breath more slowly.

So now my pain medications are being increased to three times a day, and my dad set up this oxygen machine. Now call me stupid, but isn’t there oxygen in the air, what the heck is this machine gonna do except push air down a long tube into these two hard prongs that are supposed to go in my nose. WTF, who designed this monstrosity of masochism. This is gonna work like a lead balloon. I want to say, “Dad are you F-ing Kidding me, this makes me feel like a prize pig with a ring through its nose, certainly not better” I don’t know if he can read minds, but he came up with a different technique, seems fairly bush league if not down right wrong, but those Puff the Magic Dragon nostril hooks are not going back in my nose. No sir!

By bedtime I am no longer panting, and I think I’ll sleep better if I can remember who I am and which elbow is supposed to sing the National Anthem before prayer time. Drugs are so double edged, but I’m too sleepy to discuss this anymore.

Thursday June 21, 2012

Morning meds come too early when I am not sure if I slept. I really wish people wouldn’t look at me, it’s just so annoying to be the center of someone else’s attention when clearly they have their own issues that they should be dealing with before me. As I drifted into that morning medication stupor, I wonder why more men don’t sing Happy Birthday in a falsetto voice with a blue tint.

So it half past noon and dad has the temerity to tell me that people are coming by the house today. Can’t he see I’m in no state for visitors, I have no pants on. Next thing I know, the smoke smelling oxygen machine has been replaced – nice! I sleep some more, then that good old Lab comes with those puppy dog eyes and asks if I want to come see the nurse or whether the nurse should come to me. Once again, sharp as a tack! Can he not see I couldn’t stand to save my life? What makes him think I’ll take the stairs, besides his rendition of Happy Birthday sucked. Pants on, and enters the nurse, possibly named Cratchett, she starts apologizing for taking my blood before she’s even put on the tourniquet. I’m not sure which Cracker Jack box held her license, but with the deft touch of a butcher with a bandsaw she managed to get the needle in and get the blood out. Did she not understand I didn’t want her apologies for taking the labs, just do your job, do it quickly, efficiently and then GET OUT OF MY SPACE, AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!

Old Yella went out for a run, and came back with more instruments of the inquisition, not just prongs up the nose, but a full mask of suffocation. Sweet, I can go out screaming into the baffling effects of a soft plastic mask, If I could actually get a decent breath. Oh yeah forgot to mention, gained some weight this week, and temp was okay. Pulse Ox whatever that means was in the low 90’s and my pulse rate was above 120; but I wasn’t gasping for air. Too bad I’m not in the army, ‘cause this sounds like a time for a good Huahh! Or some such other warcry of victory.

I have to say that the oxygen does seem to ease my stress when certain individuals, specifically the devil spawn that is ‘my’ dog. Tonight I shall sleep soundly to the hum of crickets warbling Aida in the Key of G, at least that’s what I think the oxygen machine sounds like.

Friday June 22, 2012

Not sure what happened today, but it just kind of went by in a sedated shallow breathing haze. They only timed I felt fully in the present was when ‘my’ dog, spawn of Satan, Pixel, Hound of the Coleman’s entered my space one too many times. I lost it, couldn’t breathe again, just panting through tears of anger and frustration, no position of comfort, just hate and hurt, haze and hack. The Lab got angry and is yelling to get my attention, “Put on the oxygen” he yells, “It’ll make you feel better”. “No it won’t I yell back defiantly”, until out of breath I relent as he and my mom leave me to rest in the dark.

I love my mom so much it hurts, and I hate pushing her away, but I can’t stand her looking at me. I can’t stand looking at myself anyway, bad enough I’m a teenager, but I look like some B movie zombie or a prisoner from a genocide camp. She just wants to help me, I know this, but it just hurts so much to see the pain in her eyes as she reaches out to touch me and try to bring me a comfort that I am not prepared to receive because my defenses are so wound up.

Sleep is easier and easier, and sometimes I fight between wanting to fall into fitful pharmaceutical sleep and a fear that I won’t wake up at all. Weird, huh! Good Night Diary – See you tomorrow?