Inhaling and exhaling

Yesterday I passed the dreaded pulmonary function testing, which is required for insurance purposes. I did it before my other transplants, but I was worried that the still-resolving pneumonia might make it more difficult. I guess the purpose of the test is to show that your lungs can hold up under transplant, but it’s as much a mental as a physical exercise, which you could fail just by having a panic attack.

A technician puts a clip over your nose and leads you through various tests. For one test, you put your mouth around a tube and breathe in and out and then take a deep breath in and push push push all the air out until you think you might turn blue. For another test, you put your mouth around a piece of equipment that looks like a snorkel and then, with nose clip on, breathe evenly for about two minutes and then do a big inhale and exhale. There was some writing on the bottom of the machine and I repeated each letter to myself to distract myself from the sensation that I was drowning.

I had a funny nurse yesterday who I remembered from my first treatment in 2003. Her name is Mel and she has a deadpan manner that used to crack my mother up. Yesterday we were talking in my room about the fact that I didn’t need platelets. I said I figured I’d probably need them in a day or so.

Mel said that you never know, my donor could still wake up and knock out the bad cells and my counts could come back up.

Then my cell phone rang.

“That could be them calling right now,” she said. (Exit smiling.)

I had shakes and a fever of 102 around 3 a.m. This set me back in terms of possibly going home before the transplant. In another downer, the kids were going to come this weekend but (wisely) canceled due to the storm. Diane and Margaret came, and I was glad to see them.

I thought I would lie down and try to meditate this afternoon, but quickly fell asleep. I woke up when a woman came in to do an EKG; one minute I was all warm under the covers, and the next I was having my shirt pulled up and cold sticky conductors applied to my skin.

The mental game is a work in progress. The high fever, the prolonged hospital stay, the postponed visits (not their fault…I would have worried about their safety if they came) edge me back into doom and gloom and how did this happen territory.

I went over to 6A for a pep talk from Myra. She reminded me that I need to take one thing at a time. The pneumonia is better. Next step, mop up the leukemia and get the transplant. Stay away from the dark side; all it can do is hurt me.

“Give yourself one or two seconds and then give yourself a kick in the butt,” she said.

Right now I'm giving myself a mixture of vanilla ice cream and strawberry jello. A little comfort food never hurt anyone.