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.