I won’t lie to you, most don’t live past five years.

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

Oxygen in tow

I made it to Thanksgiving at my daughters. My x came and got me. It is a good thing as this recovery is kicking my butt. He put my oxygen machine in the back of the car, and I had my portable.

I was well enough to walk to their house that is being built around the corner from their rent house. Everyone says I look so good. Guess three months of this lifestyle change must be showing. I did dress up for Thanksgiving. I figured if I had to wear oxygen on my face I would sport it looking nice.

It was good to socialize, but I did very little to help with dinner or clean up and had to stay out of the kitchen as oxygen, and open flame doesn’t go well together. When I was tired, I excused myself and simply snuggled on the couch. I said my goodbyes from there. I spent the night on the couch so the kids could go to do their crazy Friday shopping.

Babysitting wasn’t hard. I didn’t have to do anything but sleep and wait for the granddaughter to come down the stairs. I hate to think this on the couch; the oxygen-toting person is my new normal. I had planned on being the vibrant grandma that camped and danced. Will I ever dance again?  Not to worry. It is my job to heal. That is all I am supposed to do now.