(Written on my iPad in my hospital bed; please excuse typos)
Day 12 of the endurance test continues. After 9 days of fountain-worthy bleeds, one bronchoscopy, two separate embolizations, morphine dreams, four days in a hell called ICU, and steroid hallucinations, the demon known as Hemoptysis has withdrawn. No traces today. Just unfriendly memories. But I’m not out of the woods yet. The 11 days of vacation from airway clearway may have felt nice, but did a number on my lungs. The bacteria have fled to their bunkers and it’s taking the big bombs and hypertonic saline to loosen their hold.
Afternoons are still tough. I do a header into bed like a drunk Olympic diver who hit his head on the edge of the board – I get zero points for my bellyflop entry. I’m still on O2, which is thanks to the lack of airway clearance, inflammation and the party juice they gave me during eight hours of procedures. I’m proud it took them a ton of drug to knock me out. I remember cracking bad jokes right before the bronch and hearing someone say “how much have you given him?” Then I heard about the amount before the second procedure because they were surprised how much it took to shut me up (my wife asked for some to go). We’re not talking about Michael Jackson status here, but the King of Pop and I could have partied together, IVs in tow to see who who could stay awake the longest. Unfortunately, my lungs are still paying the price for my endurance and there’s no “hair of the dog” cure sitting around ready to be mixed.
Embolization hangovers are the worst.
I’m making light of a serious situation again. I hate when I do that. Shit, I’m alive. And I can tell you that this experience made me realize I got everything I wanted in life. I have two California girls who love me and who I’m going to hug like stuffed animals when I get out of here. That’s more than enough to get me through life. More than enough. I am the luckiest guy in the world. Believe it. I do.