I have a little confession to make.
When I was first diagnosed with IPF, I got this sense of relief. It was relief of my earthly obligations. I was done. Well, certainly on my way. So then, what is the use? That is, what obligations could I have that still had relevance for me? Well, I do anyway and you probably guessed that. But this strange relief. Have you ever woken up in the morning with a cold coming on? It is uncomfortable. You are, to a very slight degree, suffering. But then you think, well, then I should take the day off. The day off! And without any guilt as well. No emails. No phones. No managers. No silly chit chat among fellow workers. A friggin’ day off. Maybe it was worth a bit of discomfort after all.
It is, or was I should say, a bit like that. I have a doctor’s note excusing me from participating in all those things I’d rather not. A release of tension. It was accompanied by a sense of bewilderment as well mind you. I was bewildered with images of me dead. And then there is that bizarre and futile attempt to imagine what it is like being dead. It is that very disturbing limitation of our brains to imagine “nothing”. More to the point, to “be” nothing. Certainly reading a bit of Alan Watts on the subject is helpful, for a while anyway. And then later it is not.
I know a lot of time has passed since last put something in this journal/blog thing. I wondered why during all that time I was not writing. I think I had simply become bored. Bored with the outside and bored with the inside. Or perhaps just tired. Maybe that. I have a reminder that pops up on my computers, iPhone and Watch. It says “Write every fucking day!” And I wasn’t. I dodged it. I ignored it. I felt a little guilty too. Imagine that. I did not turn it off.
Yes, tired. Getting some physical therapy during this period did not improve things. I did not eat much. I didn’t read much. And I didn’t do a lot of things of which I cannot remember, as I did not do them.
All of this was due to the great “Lung Biopsy”. I don’t recommend one unless absolutely necessary. For me it was. I usually do OK with surgery and such. I like the drugs and recover quickly. I banter with doctors and nurses, which they all loved immensely.
Not this time. The biopsy was the reason for all of that coughing mentioned in the earlier entries. And pain. I mentioned throwing up mucus from my lungs, not my stomach. A horrible and a bit frightening experience. The surgical site on my right side hurt a lot too. So I would cough and it would hurt a lot. And I was coughing all the time. Now you know why.
Perhaps more on the biopsy experience tomorrow, or even later. I have this story about this amazing hallucination and, well, later.Oh, Nurse Ratched was in it. That’s here in the picture.