Um. So my lfe took off to the sucky place yesterday. I got up Monday morning still having problems getting full breaths, I'd break into random low-grade fevers, and by noon *moving* was making it impossible for me to catch my breath. In a fit of rare wisdom, I listened to advice and called the doctor. I ended up having to time it so I could breathe to put on pants. So you can imagine waht crap I looked like when I went in. I also ended up needing to borrow an anti-anxiety to calm down, since apparently, I have discovered the face of panic attacks and they are directly linked to my ability to draw a full breath.
Anyway, I got a nice nurse practitioner who sat down to talk to me while I found the ultimate slump of breathability, since I literally could not breathe while sitting straight up. She sat me down on the exam table and proceeded to ask me several times if I had asthma after remarking how hideous I sounded while breathing. Thank you, Miss Nurse. The upshot is, I got a breathing treatment in the office (which I compare to a holy experience in terms of awesome), given scripts for steroids, antibiotics, and a spray bottle of albuterol. Along with that, an over the counter expectorant that for the first time didn't make me throw up--I was drinking it from teh bottle.
This is the first time I've ever been so sick I could not get on my *computer*. I sat it near me so I could touch it, but even sitting up enough to seen the screen of the laptop was almost impossible.
It was a pretty horrible night--I set up camp in the living room with all my drugs, tried to figure out the ultimate way to use the albuterol, becaue I kept hitting my tongue, drank about two quarts of orange juice, and catnapped in twenty minute intervals until I'd shift and couldn't breathe and wake myself up in a panic. And my legs hurt, which was freaky as hell. Weirdly, after my sister got child ready for school, and I fell asleep, I woke up at nine-thirty able to draw deep breaths again. I still can't wander around or get my own orange juice and/or coffee, but in total coolness with the breathing.
NP never said what she thought was wrong, which is disturbing, and said she'd call with info if the x-rays turned up something unexpected, which is fucking scary, but on the other hand, the lab tech that originally gave them the once over didn't act like I was on the verge of dying, nor did the nurse or the doctor who wrote my scripts (I think he wrote them? Do NPs write scripts?) so we'll go to the peaceful place of not worrying. I'm going to hte place I can draw deep breaths.
So um, mea culpa. Next time someone tells me, go to the doctor, I will do it. Because in all honesty, I have no idea what shape I'd be in if I'd refused.
I know, long self-pity, but during the *hour* I was waiting while they consulted on my x-ray? I got a tiny bit freaked out.
Now I'm watching Torchwood. It makes me happy.