Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I can't get any air in.
It's an awful feeling. I've sucked on my inhaler, had oxygen nubs stuck up my nose, swilled cough syrup, popped antibotics but I still can't breathe.
I'm so tired but I'm afraid to sleep.
Last night, I'm propped up in bed, so tired I could cry but the fizzing of pop rocks in my lungs kept me up. I'm pretty sure they shouldn't make that sound. This was after a day of coughing until I vomited.
When I didn't vomit, blood streaked green mucus comes up. Is that better? I don't know. Then this morning, I threw up white foam. Perhaps, I'm just going mad like a rabid dog and they'll shoot me. It'd be a relief.
Today, I'm not coughing as much but I'm wheezing. That deep, dying rattle wheeze that makes people stop you in the hall and ask if you need 9-1-1. I don't. I've seen three doctors, each more useless than the last.
I have acute bronchitis with asmtha. Suffer and die seems to be the consenus. Perhaps I'm reading into the situation, I don't know. That's what it feels like. That they feel that my wheezing, coughing, vomiting, inability to sleep is a mild problem.
It doesn't feel mild.
I can't breathe.
I don't suppose it matters to anyone but me.
And I still have to go to work.
So I'm kissing all the son-of-a bitches that get on my nerves. Hopefully, I'm contagious.
A girl has to look forward to something.