Support and struggles

I have been putting together my living will and a list of phone numbers and emails for my mom to contact when I pass away.  Have no fear, I'm not that urgent.  In fact I am better than I was earlier this year, and between you and me, I thought I was a goner then.  There are little things we mutants tell ourselves that represent worsening health.  For example, needing a port or needing O2 twenty four hours a day.  For me it's always been having visible changes on my x-rays.  Earlier this year it was grotesquely massive lumps of pneumonia all over my left side, causing severe pain and shortness of breath.  It was scary, I was needing more oxygen during the day then ever and just a few short steps were sending me into a breathless panic.

Here I am now, feeling awful yet better than I was from March on.  My x-rays are still changing, negatively, I've still got the nose hose and I'm still in lots of pain.  The morphine before treatments of routine vicodin seem to be helping physically but I'm worried about the power struggle I will have if I need to go home with oral pain medications.  Part of my addiction issues absolutely include pain medications and sleeping pills.  I can run through a months supply in a few short days.  I have no self control.  A big part of my sobriety is trying to control those urges as well.  It isn't realistic to think I'll leave here able to vest or have coughing fits without the need of such medications.  I'm going to face it when it happens.  I'm scared, yet feel hopeful that I will do the right thing for my body by not abusing them.

Rhi and Kevin left a beautiful comment on my last blog.  They visited me a while back and Rhi hit a very scary roadblock of sickness.  She found herself hundreds of miles from home sicker than she'd ever been before.  And yes, for once, I was not the sickest girl in the room.  And it was strange-- advocating for someone else, carry someone else's O2, holding the arm of someone with the familiar struggle for breath.  It was a beautiful lesson for me, somewhat humbling.  And Rhi made it through like a champion like many of us do over and over again.  She was graceful and kind, polite to the healthcare workers at my hospital that I wanted to strangle for their ignorance or attitude.  She talked about how my hospital was so much nicer than hers and it brought me to an understanding that where I am now is not a bad place.  It's familiar and full of loving staff members who know me.

Upon admission I entered my hospital room to a freshly made bed with a small bowl of cinnamon bears on it.  My nurses, or should I say my friends, remembered them to be my favorite candy.  They left a small clusterfuck of these tiny little bears for me to ingest as a warm get well gesture.

I feel thankful for what I have.  My lungs and heart and kidneys and pancreas and all those little fuckers of organs in my body are doing an incredible job despite everything.  They haven't given me much but they've given me everything they can and for that I am truly thankful.