My chest has been noisy for two days now. My inhalers don’t make much difference. I emailed my doctor’s practice to ask if I could be seen and nebulised but they don’t read emails. I got a stonking email when it was too late, telling me, again, to phone. I replied, again, that the music makes my heart race and talking is not always easy. They do not learn that they are required to make reasonable adjustment.
I am a bit short of breath with this noise. I feel a bit concerned. I am going about my usual activity but get tired so easily.
Martin put up the arch across my path in the garden. I am so happy about it. I have chosen some plants to grow up around it. It is exciting. It will be carefully planned.
I have been made to think I am dying. I am, but in a far longer time frame than I was given to think. I am angry at a certain paramedic who scarred me. And another for his total lack of empathy, kindness, and compassion.