Dancing through life after lung transplant, despite cystic fibrosis, PTSD and all that other stuff
For Dad
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This is just for you, Dad. We're waiting for O to start, so I had time to take and post this. :-). And notice I'm wearing my new Cirque zip up sweater!
I had my weekend all planned out, and all I had to do was last through it. I knew that was going to be hard when I realized how bad my lungs were on Tuesday. Dancing was nearly impossible. Yesterday and today I have worked hard to get things ready for the benefit tomorrow night - and I called clinic and we arranged for me to be admitted on Saturday. We'll see if I make it to the elections or not. I'd like to, but maybe it's pointless. I think I'll call clinic tomorrow and ask them to see if my room could be ready by, oh, 10 am or something like that. That way, maybe by evening I'll have some antibiotics running. *le sigh*. I'm doing this by myself. I and Mom decided that she can come down later in the week if I need her - which I might. Right now, I'm pretty fucking sick. I'm going to bed at this ridiculously early hour so maybe I have a prayer of lasting through tomorrow. I also realized this evening how few people understand this. They don...
Ow. (Note, this is not a complaint. I am simply stating that I am currently in a state of pain.) WARNING: EXTREME AMOUNTS OF SARCASM AHEAD. Even though the pain is so bad I can barely stay awake, I am still able to run and jump and sing and dance (because, DUH I'm addicted to running and can't stop... I LOVE my lungs and all they do for me!) and I will be doing a marathon soon, so watch for that. I will be DANCING the marathon, and singing the whole way. What do you think, should I sing Hannah Montana??? And High School Musical??? Whadda ya think??? And since the only thing that seems to help the pain are my migraine pills, I will be popping them like candy. I will put them in rolls and eat them like Smarties. Mmmm Migraine Smarties. Never mind the fact that you are never supposed to take more than 2 in a 24 hour period. I need them to stop the pain of the goo oozing into my brain, so I'll eat them like candy. And maybe it will kill me, so despite the fact that I a...
So here's what Basher sent me in response to my last post: "I understand why you think it's all real. That's the point. Your dad is a psychiatrist. If my dad was a psychiatrist, he would back up my mental illnesses to let me have a way to express what I was feeling that went along with my CF. Have you ever stopped to think maybe being around him, talking to him, may influence how serious you think your "conditions" are? I'm not saying anything against your dad, I don't know him at all, but in general, if I was able to be in touch with someone every day who could justify all my ailments, I might believe a little too much and tell myself there is more wrong with me than there really is. I'm saying this on here so you don't stop writing your blog. I like reading it, just when you aren't all Debbie Downer is all." No Fucking Way. She sent me an IM so that I won't stop writing my blog. Great. Like that's good in any way? Like I ...
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