To live...or not the live; that is the ??
Monday, February 01, 2010
After a week of being sick with the flu and really not coming close to making my calorie marks (coming under by at least half way), on Friday, I started to feel a tad better. I got out of bed and actually washed some dishes and sat up, straightened my sickroom dissaray....until one o'clock when I decided suddenly that I didn't feel so well. I took my temperature and it had climbed back to 101.....so back to bed for me! My fever continued to climb to 102 and I finally slept that night...like a rock.
When I woke the next morning, I was drenched with sweat so I knew my fever had broken in the night. I walked across the room and suddenly -- I COULD NOT BREATHE! Like at ALL! I coughed but could not recover and found myself on the floor thinking, "this is it! This is the asthma attack that will end it all!" I managed to crawl to my recliner and set up my nebulizer with the medication which was there, ready and waiting. I put it on and tried to quell the panic that comes with oxygen deprivation, knowing that panic was only going to fuel the problem. Just BREATHE, just breathe....After what seemed like hours, I felt the first hint of the coolness of oxygen come into my lungs....not much of it....just a whiff, but it was the breath of heaven.
By this time my husband was beginning to stir around and came to my room to greet me. I told him "I need to be in the hospital." Well, THAT went over well, but we won't go into what ensued because there's no point in defaming my husband here. So finally I got here and received the red carpet treatment caused by two factors: I am what the hospital calls a "frequent flier" - being admitted frequently for my asthma and respiratory illnesses - so I was greeted by name by every staff member I encountered from the housekeeper to the unit secretaries and xray techs. Secondly, I was REALLY sick and this changed the care level from good to conciliatory.. especially from "those who know" the real deal...the nurses and the respiratory therapists knew that I was a hair away from needing to go on the ventilator...and no one, least of all, I want that.
So this is the long way of saying that drinking water, tracking foods, counting calories and exercising was the farthest thing from my mind these past two days. Instead I was busy taking care of things like "do not resuscitate" orders, and conversing with my God who was close during those days...and I did not know what his next intent was: to comfort me or to take me with him...it really could have gone either way.
Today, I actually can talk audibly. I made it to my bathroom with only my O2 line to help, and although I gasped and wheezed and collapsed on the bed on my return, it still is an improvemement. So I guess I will live. I actually ate something today...a corn muffin, some milk and juice and coffee.