Asthma - My Dirty Little Secret

You know that phrase, "walking through the valley of the shadow of death"?  Well, that is about the best way I can describe the last several weeks of my life.  I haven't been up to much of anything, including my desire to blog.

Since I was about 10, I've known I have had a situational form of asthma, typically brought on by a severe allergy to animal dander or a respiratory infection.  Fast forward a couple of years and it suddenly morphed into the real deal, with an official diagnosis:  "Michelle, you have asthma".  I have hated admitting that to anyone because it makes me feel weak.  And, for the most part, I've done a good job of hiding (or maybe denying I have) it because I have magically kept it at bay for a long time.   Several of my old prescriptions have expired without being used much at all.

However, I now find myself very pregnant (27.5 wks) and have been struggling to breathe for the last 6 of those weeks.  It's frustrating, unnerving and even a bit scary at times - even I take the ability to breathe freely for granted at times.  After several doctor visits, a couple rounds of steroids (super-low dose due to the baby) and a slew of different inhalers, you'd think I would be breathing like a champ.  But alas, no such luck.

The inability to breathe has taken away my ability to sleep well, think well, work efficiently, any desire to do housework - not to mention totally messing with my emotional well-being.  My energy stores are abysmal and I think I've pulled some muscles from all of the intense coughing, which happens round the clock.  I'm normally an upbeat kind of person, but I'm struggling to stay positive when I just feel like such a mess.  Things got bad on Sunday (coping-wise); Dave had tons of meetings and so I was rushing to get things ready and get to church, only to turn around because I could not function without one of my meds, which I'd forgotten.  Running late, I had to park extremely far from the door.  Grabbing Benjamin in one arm and the ginormous church bag in the other, I literally ran to get into the meeting before someone else got up to direct the hymns.  After leading the music in a stuffy, hot chapel (that environment does not lend itself well to breathing easily), I went to take Benjamin to nursery and he slapped me across the face.  At that point, I was seriously questioning if I could stay for the block.  Dave took him to nursery and then we went to Sunday School.  I slipped out to take something to the car and then plopped down in the driver's seat.  Turning on the ignition, I flipped the air conditioner on turbo-high and then, most uncharacteristically for me, had a very good, ugly, cathartic cry.  Fifteen minutes later, I headed back in, somewhat composed.

The next step in combatting this problem is to see a specialist - a pulmonologist.  I'm terrified to walk in to the unknown world of weird tests and new drugs, but I'm so desperate for a solution I've swallowed what little pride I have in exchange for clear, functioning lungs.  Unfortunately, most specialists are super busy with their niche clientele; this place is no exception - they can't get me in until next week.  Doesn't sound like a big deal, but try sucking in your oxygen through a straw and you will understand why it sounds like an eternity to me.

And you may ask - how did I find time to blog about this yucky state of affairs?  Because sleep is so elusive and difficult, I dread going to bed so I use any number of stall tactics to avoid it.

So, that my friends, is my dirty little secret... and confessing this big weakness, though scary and uncomfortable, helps me cope with in it a weird way.  Once I get things under control, I hope to get back to a regular blog-posting schedule, devoid of these random confessionals.