I am not going to enjoy doing this.
In fact, just to talk about what I need to talk about today, I have to do a dance of death with my worst phobia : smothering.
But I have to do it, because until I talk it out via blogging, there is a good chance I will do absolutely nothing about my problems until something unthinkable happens,things get far worse very fast, and I end up smothering for realsies.
So here we go : I have been having trouble breathing lately. While awake.
Like everything else, it crept up on me slowly. But I can no longer deny that I am doing my breathing exercises to get my breath back all the frigging time now.
And again. While awake. God only knows what’s happening when I sleep.
I keep needing to push all the air out of my lungs in order to clean out the used air and make room for the fresh air I need so badly.
For a long time now, I have suspected that I have a problem with exhalation. Somehow,I do not get all the CO2 out of my lungs when i exhale, and that CO2 builds up in the bottom of my lungs and reduces my functional lung capacity a little more with each breath, and eventually I have to clear that shit out manually, as it were.
Forcibly emptying my lungs to the fullest extent I can is the most direct and rapid way to do this. Holding my breath also seems to do the trick. And breathing in and out rapidly can also help.
Also helpful : singing. Which is definitely the most fun method.
Anyhow, i have been doing those things a lot lately, and it has me worried. Also worrying is that when I force the air from my lungs, I experience a great deal of resistance. Like something is restricting the outward airflow.
Like there is a bottleneck in there somewhere. Possibly in my actual neck.
My main worry is that, by ignoring my sleep apnea for so long, I have done irreparable damage to my lungs that means I am now in serious shit.
And I can’t defend my self-neglect except to say “depression”.
Depression makes you kill yourself in ways that have nothing to do with suicide.
Obviously, this is the sort of thing I should be bringing before some kind of medical professional who might even, in theory, do something about it.
You know. If they’re not too busy treating worthwhile humans. Or cute animals.
That means either calling my GP, Doctor Chao, or going to the ER.
Neither option is appealing to me.
Dealing with Doctor Chao over the phone when it is something this potentially serious seems like madness to me.
He can’t examine me. He can’t listen to my lungs. He can’t get me to do that breath thing where you make the little balls go up the tube.
What’s he going to do, write me a prescription for air?
That leaves the ER, and its particular brand of bullshit.
On the one hand, they can actually examine me. And seeing as I am coming in complaining of shortness of breath – there, I finally typed it – I would probably get fairly prompt attention from the staff.
But I would have to go in there ready to assert the hell out of myself. None of these life-threatening breezy dismissal this time.
I will these motherfuckers through the wringer if I have to.
AND I HAVE A VERY LARGE WRINGER.
More after the break.
Without a leg to stand on
Then there is the potentially even worse health concern :
The random pains and other sensations in my feet and legs are extremely frequent now.
It’s gotten to the point where I pretty much always have at least one neuropathological event happening at all times, and sometimes a lot more.
I get random pains of various sorts : stabbing pains, electric shock pains, scraping pains, numbing pains, you name it.
I also get random sensations, like heat or cold or numbness or wetness or a weird feeling like someone is rubbing an ice cube against my skin.
Oh, and there are also plenty of random, painful muscle spasms, as well as twitches, tingles, flutters, and cramps.
In other words, I am in acute neurological distress from the waist down.
Yes, even there. Though not often, thank goodness.
And I know that if I were a rational and sane person, I would be constructively panicking over this acute situation and swinging into action as the threat is quite real and should be quite worrisome to me.
But…. well, depression.
I can’t go there. That mode is currently offline. The best I can hope for is to slowly and painstakingly nudge myself into position to eventually take a cab to the hospital and do my best to get them to take me seriously.
I mean, between my SOB (shortness of breath, obviously) and my legs going nuts, you would think I would have plenty to keep them focused.
Alas, that is not how it works with me. There is some fundamental flaw in how I comport myself that tells people that I am not important and they can safely treatment as the lowest possible priority before moving on to someone who matters.
And I know I am part of the problem. I minimize myself. I treat myself as if I don’t matter, and people pick up on that. I am also terribly eager to please as well as highly empathic, and I have a weak sense of self, so it is very easy for what someone else wants to totally override my own concerns and result in my giving people what they want instead of what is good for me.
Then they go away and I can relax again.
It’s not smart, obviously. But it’s my pattern nonetheless.
Again, I feel like I need some kind of medical advocate.
But all I have is wimpy ol’ me.
Guess that will have to do.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.