Remember this post? My body's Labor Day gift to me? Well, I've been fighting for air ever since. I had a doctor give me a rescue inhaler back in September and I went through that puppy in 2 months, and so I decided I needed to see another doctor (you know, one that would actually listen to me breathe. Which the first doctor did not. Kind of weird in my book.) And so I saw Dr. A on Thursday.
His diagnosis? I have asthma. Not a big revelation, but nice to hear all the same. Because my world has suffered because of the loss of breath. Most importantly: I've stopped running. I only ran twice in November and haven't ran at all in December. But I am hoping that thanks Dr A's diagnosis and the administration of a maintenance inhaler, this should be under control soon. Yahoo!
But, you see, now I have something else to worry about. Because now I officially have Something Wrong. A Something Wrong that makes me rely on something outside myself to make daily function possible. Which makes me worry about the end of the world.
I've always done this. I used to worry about my nieces' dressers falling over on top of them if we ever had The Big Earthquake (which we still haven't had. Don't remind me.) Speaking of earthquakes, in 8th grade (Mr. Kennedy!! Anyone remember him?), I had a fool-proof place to hide when The Big Earthquake hit: in the built-in cabinets that lined the wall of the classroom. I reasoned that they would be much sturdier than the desk that they required me to hide under during earthquake drills. But then I would think about the built-in cabinets falling over with me inside of them and then I would be trapped inside of them instead of just trapped under the rubble that crushed my desk. Oh and I didn't mention that no one knew I had crawled inside the cabinets so I would be stuck forever in Mr. Kennedy's classroom.
It makes me claustrophobic just thinking about it.
But anyway, now that I have not just one but two inhalers to keep my lung function normal, what am I supposed to do when the end of the world comes? I mean, not the end-end, when everything goes up in smoke, but the end, post-earthquake or global financial collapse or whatever takes us down, when we don't have medicine or pharmacies or mail order drugs. Or gas stations that sell Dr. Pepper with a shot of vanilla. I'll suffocate in a month (and without any DP to take my mind off of things.) And that will really suck.
So while I'm grateful for Dr. A and his ability to digitize my lung function, I don't appreciate the result of his diagnosis and my reliance on something Other. And now I want to know: do you ever worry about these things or am I the only one? Did anyone else fantasize about climbing into Mr. Kennedy's cabinets (but not with Mr. Kennedy; ick!)?
3 comments:
I'm glad you got a diagnosis. It stinks to deal with but at least now, you can treat it and expect it.
I am no doomsdayer so I always smile when I listen or read the frettings of those that are. Of course, that just means you'll be better prepared for that great awful thing that is bound to happen, but I'm just not going to worry about that yet:):)
Like Lucy said...thankful for the diagnosis. BUT! I am so sorry you have to deal with it. Hopefully the meds will help. HUGS, sister!
As for worrying....ummmm,yeah. I do the same thing, no matter what situation i am in. Beach? Someone is going to drown. Hiking? Someone might fall. Etc, etc. I think it comes from Dad!
Oh sweetie, we are totally on the same page. Is there something to worry about? I've worried about it. (I think I've told you before, but when I was a kid, the first thing I'd do when I went into a new room was imagine where I'd go if there was an earthquake. Want to test me?
Grocery Store: Flip over the cart & go under it
Movie Theatre: Climb under the seats, obviously
Shower: Rise out shampoo, then wrap in towel, grab glasses & get away from the mirror
Go ahead, test me.
Just stock up on a 5 year supply of inhalers. Then I will stop worrying about it for you.
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