Backtracking: January

After a long four-month pause,  I think I'm ready to type: fingers are stretched, brain is as alert as it will ever be, and the cloud of denial has lifted enough that I may peek out from under it. Since my last update my DIOS issues subsided and my lungs decided that it was their turn to creep back into the spotlight. I use the word creep with intention, as things have so gradually diminished that I was unable to take notice until quite recently. As my lungs were plotting their takeover, I was busy plugging merrily along: I graduated from the University of Guelph-Humber in December (after 4.5  years--woo!), and then embarked on a post-celebratory trip to Barbados with the fam jam (since my sister also recently graduated from her massage therapy program). It was good to FINISH something, since CF has a way of turning you into an unintentional drop out or failed hobbiest.

Capping off our combined success with a trip to Barbados wasn't too shabby either (I will try to post some pics later). Great food, company and rum punch-filled happy hours. Unfortunately, during this trip my lungs decided it was time to start raising the curtain on their twisted ACT I of infection. I certain I caught a virus on the plane that added to the already brewing havoc, which made for a sinful union. So yes, four days into our sunny paradise-filled trip I developed cold-like symptoms: sore throat, runny nose, nothing my cold fx couldn't handle, right? Wrong. Before I could fit in one more achoo, my typical 'sick' dry cough/hack took centre stage, after that I lost all site of a restful night's sleep. That being said, despite the constant coughing (and abs that soon developed as a result) I was still able to enjoy a submarine dive (which was an excellent option for people who cannot scuba dive!) and I was able to 'swim' (my version of swimming these days consists of floating in the water like a stranded starfish). The only thing I couldn't do very well was walk on the beach, which was difficult last year, but a near-well impossibly this year (unless I had enough rum in me to feel like a golden goddess). By the last day of the trip, just getting out of the water and walking to my towel a few feet away was an effort and I knew that once I left the illusions of paradise that I would have to face reality.

Reality struck sooner than I thought, when I got on to the plane in fact. I was already hacking enough for people to pull out their SARS begone kits, and as soon as we reached a higher altitude I watched my SATS (oxygen in your blood, I carry a monitor with me when I travel) plummet from 92 to 84--so on the oxygen went, for the first time. On the way TO Barbados they had only dropped to 88, and I probably COULD have worn my oxygen, but it wasn't as much as a necessity as when it dropped to 84 and my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. Yikes. When we landed at Pearson, walking off the plane was effort, walking to customs was effort, everything was just much harder than it should be.

A few days before I had already e-mailed clinic to see if I could get in the following Tuesday, but they had no space (and were actually canceling appointments due to only one doctor being there) so I settled for calling in for oral antibiotics. The problem: I had already used my antibiotic of choice in December (Cipro), so it was too soon to go back on it (January at the time), so I opted for Septra--which is the Robin of drugs for me (Cipro being Batman?), together they are a dynamic duo, but apart? Batman is superior. Needless to say after a week I felt the same on Septra, if not worse, mucus was getting thicker and darker, I was still short of breath... but my Birthday weekend at Blue Mountain was coming up and I had rum to drown my symptoms in until clinic the following Tuesday. So I celebrated just like any other responsible 24 year-old, and then suffered drastically on Sunday... only it wasn't hangover suffering it was coughing up blood, mucus plugged-filled suffering. I drove my friends to the Village at Blue Mountain (with then intention to explore before we went home) only to find myself standing in a store with my first 'anxiety breathing attack'--that had been described to me before, so I know what was happening. I had a mucus plug and I couldn't clear it, I coughed and coughed and couldn't get a breath in, my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, the whole world closed around me... no one knew this of course, I found a corner to hide it... but suddenly I felt something was very, very wrong and the very thought of walking around the Village overwhelmed me. My friends were understanding (despite not realizing how sick I was until I told them calmly in the car) and once I was seated I caught my breath, reeled in my mind, and kept a pack of tissues (from my savior V) by my side at all times. To top things off, I had also lost my voice (which had been reoccuring since my trip), some of it was due to soreness (dry coughs tend to damage your throat/swell your vocal chords) and some of it was due to not having enough air to speak loudly.

Which brought us to clinic day...

I will continue this tomorrow, because I already feel I've rambled enough. Goodnight!