I was blessed with an awesome set of windbags. My lung capacity is insane. I beat the incentive spirometer game on nightmare mode (I seem to turn everything into a game). When I get sick, it rarely goes to my chest, and when it does it’s short lived. I have allergies, but have never dealt with asthma or had breathing problems.
There’s a first for everything. This is my first, and ideally last, experience with pneumonia. It pretty much feels like drowning. Or snorkeling. Being viral, there’s not much I can do for it, other than hope it goes away sooner rather than later. A lovely side effect of this is an increase in anxiety, which I’m sure happens to anyone who can’t breathe very well. I’m thankful for the three days I did nothing but sleep, because now I’m back to not sleeping much at all. The shortness of breath gets worse when I’m horizontal, so at night I’m on a stack of pillows so tall, I may as well be sleeping in a chair.
Manchild is sick again (if he infects me, I’ll cry), but being the saint he is, he put the headboard on blocks to elevate the head of the bed, and ran to the store yesterday morning to get a humidifier with the Vicks crap that gets added to the water. Now that my sleep space is higher, moister, and mentholier than thou, I….well, no difference. I still can’t breathe, and I still can’t sleep. It was nice of him to make the effort, especially considering he feels like complete ass too.
The truly impressive part is that we both managed to drag our miserable asses out the door, load the wheelchair into the truck, and go for crepes at IHOP this evening. Ah, l’amour.