My Epic Return to the Blog-o-sphere…

I at least hope it is an epic return. It will likely be more of a mediocre affair in which you all take pity on me and read this out of sheer boredom.

The last few months have been fairly eventless.

I cut my hair.

I went bowling.

I almost died from pneumonia.

I went to see my mother’s new house.

I bought a dress for my sister’s wedding. It was custom made in China.

No, there is no debate on the color. It is purple. It is just below the knee in length. It is V-necked to show off the girls (which I have been told look awesome by the way… and not just by my husband.).

Oh alright…. I will tell you the tale of my almost death. And no… I am not exaggerating. I almost died.

I had been feeling a little winded from walking down the stairs, but I thought nothing of it. I thought I was just way out of shape from my months and months of not exercising. My heart was pounding, and I was breathing heavily any time I got up. This had gone on for two days, but I thought meh, I need to stop eating junk and go for walks with Chomp.

The next night, my husband had become more concerned about my breathing and my heart rate. He said that he could see my pulse in my neck and that it was rapid. He insisted that I go to the clinic. I said that I was fine. Just under the weather. But he became more insistent. To quell his fears, I told him that we should just consult the nurse line. I was fine. Nothing the matter with me.

The nurse insisted that I go to the clinic. So I begrudgingly agreed and got dressed. But I still insisted that we only go to the walk in clinic. I was sure it was nothing serious. My heart rate seemed to have gone down.

Brian drove me to the walk in clinic… but alas, it was closed. I wanted to go home. Oh, well. We tried. But no. He drove me into town and to the emergency room. We drove by the waiting room searching for where to park. I noticed that it was absolutely packed. I didn’t want to deal with the long night of waiting amidst the crowds of sick and injured people. But we parked and walked in anyway.

We stood in line for a minute or two before a nurse came up to us and took my pulse and oxygen reading. She looked at the results and tried another finger. She looked down at the results again and then placed the reader on another finger on the other hand. She said to take a seat in front of the next available admission desk.

We checked in and went to sit down to endure the long wait. I was sure we were going to wait all night. We had barely sat down and a triage nurse called my name and had me sit in the room to take my vitals. She placed a sticker on my finger to take my pulse and measure my oxygen levels as she took my blood pressure. She checked the results of my oxygen reading and placed a new sticker on a finger on the other hand and checked the results again. My oxygen was at 58%.

I later learned that at 80% was super bad. Like organ failure bad. Mine was way worse.

I still felt fine. Just a little winded.

The nurse immediately wheeled me into a room to see a doctor. She would not let me walk. After a few hours of receiving oxygen and tests, it was determined that I had plural pneumonia covering over 80% of both lungs. I was admitted to critical care and spent the next five days in their care.

Even after I returned home, the severity of what had happened had not hit me. Not until my husband explained that my lips were pale the night he took me in. He told me that I could have died if I had just gone to bed as I wanted. He told me all of this on the verge of tears. Tears from a man I had only seen cry twice in our ten years together.

Pneumonia is a bitch, guys.


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