Coming up for air

[There is no medical advice in this post. I’m a complete idiot, not a doctor. Please don’t forget it.]

Her name is JJ and she loves me for me. I don't have to pretend when I'm around her. And she's always there for me.

There’s nothing like catching a cold two weeks after getting out of the hospital to jar your positive outlook on life. Especially when I have a terrible track record against colds. Oh, and then there is the C diff I’ve been battling. A beautiful double punch to the lungs and gut.

One day the sun is shining, the bat breaks, and here comes some splintered maple, WHACK to the head. Hard and fast with no helmet to protect me. I was just sitting there eating my Dodger Dog, watching the game when the next thing I know I’m on my back with a piece of wood sticking out of my forehead and mustard on my shirt.

My daughter brought the cold home, which always makes me feel bad because it’s not her fault it finds its evil virus way to me. Most normal fathers withstand colds just fine. And I think I have a pretty good immune system because the times when my wife gets it too, I fare pretty well compared to her.

It’s the inflammation it causes in my lungs that roasts me. I can’t get the junk out. I recover from the cold, but not its wake.

But since I started taking higher doses of vitamin C, I’ve been faring better. This was the first autumn I stayed out of the hospital in years, and during the recent hospital joy ride, my PFTs recovered for the first time while I was in the hospital, something rare and unseen for many years. And my pulse ox was higher than it normally is for an exacerbation. Odd, but in a good way.

And now, after a week of this cold and a Saturday I can only describe as a descent into Virus Hell – a day of my body and mind misfiring I’ll never forget – and four straight days of eating mostly liquids, bowls of Tom Yum and Tom Kar Thai soup, and flushing my sinuses three times a day, and eating as much vitamin C as my stomach could manage, I’m may see a thin glow in the distance.

And it may not be the fluorescent glow of hospital lights.

I can’t say if I’ll avoid the hospital. It’s touch and go, but there is hope. Scary stuff is still coming out of me. But my lungs feel like they have better air each day and are moving the trapped garbage out.

I hope I don’t curse myself with this post. I know better. But have I made it this time? Or am I being teased?

If I did make it, say hello to my little friend, Vitamin C. She’s my new best pal in the fight.

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