I miss my daughter. She is in Oxford with her job. I hope she is as happy as she claims.
I miss watching videos in my bed, laughing with the dog as she roughhoused with him. I miss her news every day. God, I miss just setting eyes on her.
I called out paramedics in the wee hours yesterday. I was suffocating. No position relieved it. They came surprisingly quickly considering how busy they are, but the crew had been at the local hospital when they were dispatched.
They used ipratropium only which they are not meant to do, but it fixed me. I couldn’t believe the difference. I still feel better now. I wonder how long before yesterday ipratropium would have benefited me. And I would not have needed to feel I was suffocating so many times when I got myself into the recovery position to make it stop.
I am dying. There is no doubt. It is a long slow death. I enjoy my life mostly. I miss my daughter. It would be so much easier if she were here to smile at me every day.
I am loving my wanderings around the harbour. Finding the ancient woodland. I find healing.