It started with a cough, a little drier than normal. A simple cough.
I had just gone 28 days without antibiotics of any kind – the first time in six or seven years.
I was feeling great – “King of the World” great, arms raised, hanging on the bow of the Titanic. I was walking between 60 to 80 miles a week.. Life was fantastic.
But, as always, the scales must be balanced in my life. And, Hubris punished by the Universe. I needed to be taken down a few pegs.
The battle started the next day, Monday, as I felt drained by the afternoon. On Wednesday night the first fever hit when the Universe stuck its icy fist through me. That’s how each fever came on, in an instant, without warning, like getting hit in the face with a pie by some crazy meth-addicted clown.
By Friday I couldn’t take it anymore and asked to be admitted to the hospital, but was told viruses aren’t treated with IVs. I was given oral cipro as a precaution and I kick myself for not pushing back more but I’ve never had the power to force the issue of being admitted. It’s like shooting myself in the foot. I can’t force the jail stay.
I was told to call the weekend number if I got worse. And I got worse. But I was pissed that I didn’t get admitted on Friday and hate going in on weekends. So, I thought if I die, this is on them, which is pretty stupid, I know, but I’m never been smart enough to avoid limiting my suffering.
Monday I emailed and asked to be admitted. I couldn’t take it anymore.
And for 10 days in the hospital, I slept, fought fevers and watched Sons of Anarchy seasons 1 – 5, a show I never thought I’d enjoy but did – 10 days of hiding out, disengaged from life, never once leaving the front doors of the hospital.
And though I’m home, I’m not back to normal. My oxygen level is still lower than normal and my pulse higher, and I’m tired. And, once again, I’ve got to claw my way back to normal and I’m not sure how much of me is gone forever – what piece was taken this time?
God, I hate cystic fibrosis.