When I had the diagnosis for my lungs, around two and a half years ago now, I didn’t think I would be alive today. I didn’t know what to expect at all. But because I woke one morning feeling fine and by four pm was gasping to get air into my lungs, I thought it would be sooner rather than later.
I’ve had so many ambulance visits that I’ve lost count. They have all been to nebulise my lungs. I now call nebulisers my cocaine, as I come to life and feel so great afterwards. Apart from the trembling and a headache of sorts.
In the week after Christmas I started reducing two wardrobes into one, ridding myself of clothes I no longer wear or will never wear. It felt great, but I exhausted myself and stopped before the final bits were done. It’s a source of mild frustration, as I’m terrified of feeling so exhausted again. I have achieved other great changes in my home, but with less effort. It feels good.
I haven’t needed a paramedic since the 09 01 19, when I was nebulised and given steroids. Eight tablets each morning for five days. I’ve only used my inhaler a few times since, it’s amazing.
So now we are in March. No ambulance for two months. It lovely but strange, but I’m so grateful.