(Please excuse typos. Written on my iPad while I have a raging headache from non-stop IVs.)

Well, I can’t say that days two and three in the hole have been a real joy. With the exception of coughing up blood, I felt better before I came in on Sunday. Now I feel crappy from sitting in this room all day trying not to bleed, wondering what guy has to do to get a little glue in his lung.

Last night I came about as close as you can to moving to the ICU and then an embolization. I stood up to walk across the room and felt the pop in my lung and the blood followed. Luckily, one of the nurses had the vision to leave a pink kidney shaped basin in my room, but not all of the blood made it there. Some of it landed on my UCLA shirt that I wear to mess with the Trojan fans here, and my sheets have dried blood on them today. If you took a CSI light to the room I’m sure it’s in places I can’t see. It’s amazing where blood goes when it splatters. It’s not like coughing up Gatorade.

Speaking of blood, I’ve been watching Dexter episodes. Great show. I’m up to season three. What hits me about the show is how much I relate to Dexter himself. I’m not talking about the serial killer part so don’t call the police, though I would love to take out bad guys, but not by chopping them up. A sniper’s rifle would do. Rather, I relate to Dexter keeping a secret from those he works with and his life with blood.

Yesterday, to avoid the RTs who burst in and yell “ready for your treatment,” I spent 30 minutes in the bathroom on a conference call with the heads of the department I work in. Then there are other times I’m on the phone and someone will come in and I have to do a dance of signaling the person to keep quiet while I get off the phone. I am doing my best to keep the CF secret. But it’s getting harder to do so. I feel like I live in this hospital.

And I can tell you my single greatest source of stress in maintaining a job while I do this dance of having CF and working. Is that similar to Dexter maintaining his “normal life” while leading the life of a killer? It would be much easier if I could kick back and read and watch videos all day. But I don’t want to give up the job.

Still, it’s so embarrassing to tell my boss that once again I’m in the hospital. And working in the hospital is getting harder when I don’t feel as well. There were times today I stared at the screen for a half hour fighting to stay awake. It was easier to be in the hospital when I was younger because I had the power of youth on my side.

So, like Dexter, I hide my big secret and do my best not to get discovered. I know it’s only a matter of time before I can’t do it anymore – when I run out of tricks. When that day comes I know I’ll feel a great sense of relief but sadness, too. And I hope that one day I don’t live my life in fear of blood. If only Dexter could be a serial killer of bacteria – Cystic fibrosis would be history.