but wait… there’s more! order now and you will also receive….

Okay, so I finally have a legitimate reason to not breathe. And it’s not just a litterbox that should have been emptied on Tuesday. It’s actual evidence from expensive medical tests that show my insides are a bit botched.

Preliminary results indicate that the right side of my heart is enlarged (interesting, since I’ve always leaned a bit toward the bleeding-heart left) and the bottom bits of both lungs have collapsed. It could be fibrosis. It could be heart failure. It could be sleep apnea leading to heart failure. It could be gremlins in the dead of night.

But it IS why I haven’t been able to grab a decent breath since March. Or a satisfying yawn.

I’m not bothered by the diagnosis in the least. The symptoms were there whether they had a name or not – breathlessness that would embarrass a blonde beauty queen, and wracking coughs that any two-pack-a-day smoker would be proud of. Once there is a name there can be a plan.

But first, the echocardiogram needs to be fully read, and there’s another sleep study in my future to see if a CPAP machine would help. Because nothing says “restful sleep” like strapping a Darth Vader helmet to your face and cuddling up to a lawn mower engine.

This has been a hell of a year for someone who has always been healthy as a horse (and roughly the size of a pony). I now have to check pretty much “all of the above” on the medical history forms. And with the drugs I’m already taking, I fall into that “immuno-suppressed” category that’s not even supposed to eat raw cookie dough. Really? Really?!? Who wants to be in that group? (Though “death by Tollhouse sushi” would make an awesome epitaph.)

So…onward. Looking forward to another regime of tasty pharmaceuticals and their delicious buffet of unintended side effects. Bon appétit!

two steps forward…one step back to bed

So a few weeks into the poisoning, and the results are…


My elbows no longer look like Christmas-themed oven mitts. A
good portion of my legs that were covered with sandpaper are now covered with, well, skin.  Well skin, even. And I can no longer effectively file my nails on my forearms.

Imagine calluses on your soles so huge that you feel like you’re wearing Crocs when you’re not. Now I have to imagine it, too, because the balls of my feet have cleared almost entirely. (Though I can’t really dance through the streets yelling, “My balls are back! I’ve got my balls back!”)

So this is awesome.

The trade-off for this advent of epidermal normalcy is bone-crushing fatigue. While I look forward to getting my fingerprints back and
not having to declare a blizzard warning whenever I brush my hair, I more eagerly await my next napping opportunity. Just the words “prone” and “supine” nearly put me under. No matter what time I go to bed, morning comes too damn fast and all day long I can’t help but dream of dreaming.

I’ve always thought of myself as a lazy person, but never before realized what an optional choice that was.  Now I think I’ll have my name legally changed to Barcalounger…at least then people know what to expect.