Sunday, January 30, 2011

A photogenic chest cavity. The highlight of my week.

As I tried to think of what I would blog about this weekend, a variety of topics flooded my mind. So instead of trying to narrow it down, I've just decided to share them all. Basically, none of them are worth writing an entire blog on, so I may as well shove them together.

Okay, thought number 1:

A few weeks ago I developed a sinus infection which then contributed to a nasty cough. I was coughing so hard I woke up one morning unable to move due to the pain in my chest. In short, it felt like my lungs were too small for my ribs. So with every cough (and there were MANY), it felt like my ribs were cracking.

This was debilitating enough to get me to a doctor.

I was diagnosed with "pleurisy." Essentially, the lining of my lungs was inflammed. I was put on antibiotics and some prednisone (anti-inflammatory).

Problem was, I couldn't do anything. My exercise routine came to a screeching halt since any amount of movement accompanied by heavy breathing put me in excruciating pain.

A sneeze was a near-death experience.

Mornings were the worst - I had to shimmy out of bed because sitting up was impossible.

My 3-yr-old didn't care that picking him up meant Mommy would be clenching her teeth and brought to tears.

So, with multiple urgings from my friends, I headed back to the doctor.

Chest x-rays and multiple blood tests later, and the doctor says, "You've got me stumped."

On a side note - she said my x-ray pictures were 'perfect' and 'beautiful.' It's nice to know I'm beautiful on the inside! lol

But she figured either I had inflammed connective tissue between my ribs or my lung lining was still inflammed (although the blood tests supposedly ruled that out). So now I'm on a massive dose of prednisone. I did read one of the side effects can be weight loss so I'm really hoping for that...although a couple paragraphs down it reads, "may cause puffy face."

Super. I've got gorgeous ribs but I'll have the face of a balloon animal. I think I'm going to turn myself inside out.

Good news is I think the drugs are starting to work. The pain is manageable for now. I guess I'll hit the gym tomorrow and see what happens...

Okay, thought number two:

I know I've blogged about this before, but it still baffles me when sudden blasts of reality hit me - namely, my age.

I met a young man - an early 20-something - this weekend, and when he introduced himself, I recognized his last name. I cringed as I asked this, "I know I'm old when I have to ask this question, but who are your parents?" Sure enough. He gives the names of a couple I remember with small children. Uh, this 'child' is well into adulthood now.

On the way home, I tell my husband I can't believe that he could be that old. I remember him as a toddler! My husband hangs his head and replies, "That's nothing. I knew his Dad before he was even married."

Ugh. Just sign us up for AARP cards already.

It didn't help that tonight I spent some time putting Christmas photos into albums and had some significant catching up to do (as in, I haven't been diligent to do it for a few years, so there was a large collection of photos) and as I started sticking in graduation and senior pictures of my nieces and nephews - my eyes scanned the pages preceding each one.

Photos of them as babies.

I still vividly remember the outfits they're sporting.

And then the cute early elementary photos. The braces and bad hair of the middle school years. Finally the transformation of a baby-chubbed kid into a beautiful/handsome young adult.

**SIGH** How come 18 years seems more like 18 months to me?

And final thought...

My 8-yr-old is sportin' such a strong 'tude lately you'd think she raced through some years and was more like 14.

The latest phrase I've come to despise: "It's none of your business."

Huh? She's 8. I'm her mother. Everything she thinks and does is still my business, isn't it?!?!?

It's that horrific moment in parenting when you wonder, "Should I be firm and tell her it definitely is my business and she better start talkin'" or pull the compassionate card saying, "Oh, honey, I know you're struggling with something, but you know you can talk to me about anything."

Eventually I try them both.

And eventually they both work.

But she's 8. I'm thinking my luck with that will run out in a few years.

It's just hard to believe that moment the doctor held up that baby with girl parts and my heart burst with joy ...would be so quickly snuffed out by her 2nd-grader-style bad attitude.

So I'm sick. I'm old. And I'm a lost parent. Maybe I'll trade my prednisone in for some anti-depressants!

What a week.

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