Backtracking: March 9th

If March 8th was encapsulated bliss, March 9th was a flood of nightmares.

It started off with the ever-so-tasty fructose syrup from diabetic hell in my cup--this was the OGTT test I was required to do to prove once and for all that I was not diabetic. The good news? I wasn't diabetic. The bad news? The OGTT appeared to set off a tantrum for my recovering, temperamental, lungs.

Besides being hungry and grumpy enough to punch walls (which I couldn't due to lack of energy anyway) I started feeling extremely short of breath and felt my heart pounding in my chest like a wild beast trying to escape my rib cage. After attempting to get dressed, I sat down on my bed and tried to catch my breath, I popped on my SAT monitor and yup, my resting heart rate was 125--not ideal.

I pegged it as a side effect from the glucose tolerance test (which always makes me feel like garbage anyway), and headed down to a diner down the street with my mom. I was craving nothing but hearty food, and small children (whatever came first)--and yes, I'm aware I am a small child.

By the time we reached the diner, I was feeling faint and sick--my body was fighting HARD. We had a quick meal and headed back to the hospital, where things continued to worsen, I was sitting and talking to the fellow (who had popped in to discuss my still elevated WBC, funny enough) and couldn't really catch my breath or bring my heartrate down. Due to the sudden nature and severity of this episode, she said she would return in an hour to check in on me, meanwhile, I had my mom try CPT on me to loosen any mucus plugs that might be causing the shortness of breath. An hour passed, not much changed, and the fellow took one look at me and sent me for an emergency X Ray and CT to rule out a Pulmonary Embolism.

Again, good news and bad:
Good: No Pulmonary Embolism.
Bad: Things plummeted rapidly from that day forward.