COMA

I have often said that I have two speeds, 100 MPH, and coma.

Last week, while my beloved was golfing, I was at 100 MPH.I was getting kids to and from school, gymnastics, trampoline, soccer, etc. I was hosting sleepovers. I was moving Grammy to and from wheelchairs, in and out of the house. And yes, I was a rock star carpet cleaner.

Yesterday, I hit COMA.

I have lung issues. Have since I was five. I spent a lot of time on the ninth floor (the lung floor) of Children's Memorial in Chicago in my youth, up to when I went to college. Why was the lung floor on the top of the building? cruel joke, I guess.
I am a better manager of my breathing now, and the improvement of pharmaceuticals over the last several years has helped a lot, but sometimes, I just can't breathe.

SO I was having an episode. Just chest pains, no real attack, but the damn thing wouldn't stop.

I took my arsenal of meds, still pain, and I was SO FRIGGIN TIRED.
And cold.
Something was not cool.

I figured it was steroid time, that dreaded time of the year where nothing else will work but a large does of oral steroids. No, not the body builder kind. The other kind that seems to cure just about anything quickly, but leaves you with killer headaches, bloated, jittery, and moody.

Awesome.

I marched into Urgent Care, and saw a doctor I know pretty well from my not so rare visits to Urgent Care(remember Jonny Danger?) . The cute one. Doctor Blue Eyes.

But first the nurse takes my vitals and she is pissed.
"Stop moving your arm, I can't get your blood pressure"
"I'm not moving my arm"
"Do you have low blood pressure?"
"Um, no"
"OK, let's do it again"
The second time it read 90/70. Shit.
Instead of the usual "looks fine", that nurse RAN out of my little room.
Fuck.
Blue Eyes comes right in to deal with the rest of me. He listens to my chest, and before I can tell him that I am the rare asthmatic who does not wheeze, he says,
"You're the one who normally doesn't wheeze, right"
"Why yes, thanks for remembering, I was just going to tell you that."
"Well, you are wheezing up a storm now. I'm glad you came in today"

Fuck.

So he waves the paper with my vitals on me, tells me I should be dead, and makes me promise to take immediate steroids, and follow up with more medication. And do nothing for the rest of the day.

Easy Peasy.

Welcome to my coma.

Luckily enough, Jon came running when I told him the happy news. He took the kids, and I took to bed, my meds, and some chocolate. See, I take direction well.

Now, I am a little loopy, slightly jittery, I have we rid sleeping habits and I am hungry all the time, but I can breathe, and my chest doesn't hurt anymore.

Eureka.
And today, my BP was 120/80.
I AM ALIVE AGAIN!

In celebration, I finally got myself that damn pedicure.
Awesome.
But if you see me running more than 3 errands in a day for the next week, please tell me to slow the hell down.
seeing the cute doctor is not worth the coma.