Today I went to the pulmonologist. I thought he would say something like. You are almost over pneumonia you are doing a good job, you will soon be off of oxygen. Instead, this is how the conversation went.
Doc: “I’m going to diagnose you with interstitial lung disease.”
Me: What? I’m flustered looking for my pen. “excuse me?” I poised to write it down.
Doc: Just google ILD. He seems flustered with my being flustered.
Doc: I’m not going to lie to you, if it is idiopathic then those people usually have no more than five years to live.
Me: Now I’m looking flustered. What? Did he say I might have five years to live?
Doc: So let’s hope you have an autoimmune condition such as rheumatoid arthritis or scleroderma, I’ll also test you for HIV. We can hope it is one of those.
Me: You are hoping I have one of those things?
Doc: Yes it is better than the alternative.
The doc gets up to leave, and I thank him. I thank him for having a bedside manner that is crappy, for scaring the shit out of me. I’m so flustered I forget to pay, and when I’m out in the hall and on the phone and reiterating what the doc has just said to me, I’m confused. I don’t want any of these awful things, but I don’t want to die.
Breathing through panic,
Pusche