Now, to write this without sending myself into a massive panic attack. Fun.
Basically, it seems that every time I lay down, it becomes hard to breathe. It’s like there is this dark cloud slowly filling my lungs.
Unsurprisingly, this has been building for a long time. Equally unsurprisingly, I lacked the decisive will to do anything about it except watch my doom approach with all the vitality and willpower of a barnacle about to be crushed by the bow of a cruise ship.
And now I am in trouble. Not being able to lie down any more is kind of a problem. Makes sleeping rather tricky.
I tried sleeping in my computer chair with my feet up on the bed, but that did not pan out. Must be an acquire taste.
Now, not being able to breathe is my worst (and, as it turns out, most realistic) fear. I am positive said fear shares a positive feedback loop with my sleep apnea.
What I am truly worried about is that it won’t stop here and soon I won’t be able to breathe whether I am horizontal, vertical, or diagonal.
That would kill me. Obviously.
And so logically, I should probably respond to this fresh crisis by hauling my ass back to the ER, or possibly even call 911. That would be the prudent, intelligent, logical thing that any sane and rational person would do.
They might even panic a little, just for effect.
But I am not a sane or rational person. I am a lunatic. And that means I have to think about it for a while before I can make up my mind to do it.
I will most likely get there eventually. But it will take some time.
Speaking of being insane, one of the main reasons I am reluctant to go back to the ER is that I would be embarrassed by the fact that I was just there yesterday.
Even for me, that’s wildly irrational. Odds are that nobody who saw me yesterday at 6 am will even be on shift on a Friday afternoon.
And even if it was the exact same cast and crew, who cares? What are they going to do, mock me for being a sickie?
This is how social anxiety and/or avoidant personality disorder could straight up fucking kill a person, folks, by making them too shy to get desperately needed medical help.
So I will probably go eventually. Not looking forward to it, the ER sucks.
But they will likely put me on oxygen, and that sounds real good right now. Even sitting here upright and at rest tapping away on my keyboard, I feel tired and like I could use some fresh air and maybe a transfusion of oxygenated blood.
That sounds refreshing.
And I am fairly sure that “I can’t breathe” is up there with “I have chest pains” and “my pancreas is radioactive” in terms of statements that get you to the front of the triage line.
Assuming I can get someone to take me seriously.
That is by no means guaranteed, especially around medical people.
But hey, at least I might not have to wait as long.
Heck, they might even have TWO doctors on duty now.
Oh, the luxury.
More after the break.
The morning’s medical misadventure
So my second daily IV antibiotics treatment was uneventful.
Julian drove me there at a bit after 8 am. Not the happiest time for me to be up and moving but at least I got it over and done with.
I know the routine from my previous leg infection. You show up, you give them your CareCard, they print out some stuff on pink/purple paper, and you take that to the nurse’s station in the ER.
You then sit down in one of the comfortable Barcaloungers in the waiting area and eventually a nurse comes around, flushes your IV port, and jack you into the IV of life saving antibiotic medicine.
The whole thing is pretty mellow, to be honest.
The only excitement – medical grossness warning, skip ahead to the next sectionif squeamish – was when I remembered at the last second that they were also suppose to change the absorbent dressing on my grotesque wound.
The nurse wasn’t sure she should do it as apparently despite the previous day’s nurse having assured me that they would change my dressing when I came in today, she did not note that anywhere in my file. \
But then I showed her the thing and she said “Um, yup. that has to go. ” It was stained a truly disturbing shade of mottled brown over 90 percent of its surface.
It was like a full diaper but grosser.
And when she removed it, this huge amount of brown fluid splashed out. Seriously, this thing was like the world’s must disgusting water balloon.
Luckily she was able to clean everything and give me a fresh nappie…. er, dressing. It’s’ already looking pretty, um, “used” though.
I think tomorrow I will ask for an extra in case I want o change it myself.
About the stuff I said in the top half :
Well I didn’t go to the ER and I’m not dead.
Zut alors, quelle choq!
I managed to find a prone position where I was not being smothered too much, and got an hour and a half of sleep, and felt much better afterwards.
So no 911 just yet, but it’s in the pipeline just waiting for things to get bad enough. Could happen at any minute.
Or not at all.
I know one thing : I am very tired of being so tired. Just getting up to get a glass of water from the kitchen feels like a fucking marathon. Taking the elevator down to the car makes me feel like I’m on a death march.
Heck, maybe when I am in the ER tomorrow, I’ll tell them my symptoms. See if they think I need to be admitted.
I am positive I do.
This shit has got to stop.
I need oxygen dammit.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.