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I'm not sure how well known I've made it, but I've been sick for several weeks now. Really, ever since I had that extreme asthma attack when we were in Hawaii. I've been putting it off and putting it off because I haven't had hardly any troubles with asthma symptoms for like 4 years now! Plus, I'm an advocate of the reality of Jesus can and will heal me.

However, I'm not one of those crazies who would let myself waste away before going to see a doctor. I believe we have medical technologies and medicine for a reason. And I thank God for that. Plus, I have enough sense to take care of myself...somewhat. 

Nonetheless, ever since that asthma attack in Hawaii I have been sick. I get short of breath quite easily, I have these little attacks to where I just cannot take a deep breath. It's almost just feels like my lungs will not hold the air. It feels like no matter have fast and deep I inhale my lungs just still aren't getting anything. And that sucks and it's terrifying. I'm pretty stubborn when it comes to the medications that you take for asthma. They may help my lungs relax and keep me breathing, but they make you feel like death everywhere else. Thus, I avoid taking them like they're the plague. I have my whole life.

So...you know it's quite bad when I willingly start sucking down breathing treatments twice a day...or more! And I carry that inhaler with me to puff on it every day. Needless to say, my willingness and eagerness for the medication had my hubs and family a little concerned. This has all been going on for...I guess...5 weeks. Yeah, (again) since our Hawaii trip.

I even started having trouble sleeping. I'll just start having those random dreams about drowning or not being able to breathe (my unconscious mind can be quite creative with that) and then I wake up and...I can't breathe! So I panic a bit and then scramble to the breathing treatment and/or inhaler. I have been miserable.

It occurred to me yesterday that this had been going on for so long and I shared my concerns with my mother. So, when I received a phone call from the doctor that my mother works for, I knew she was behind it. He's been my doctor since I was 2-years-old. He knows me well. And he knows my asthma well.

My mom had apparently prepped him for the conversation, because he was more aggressive with me than he usually is in his suggestions of what I need to be doing in order to 'take care of myself.' He told me that he knew because I was younger (which slightly implied dumber as well) that I may not realize the long-term consequences of not taking care of myself. And that I only get one set of lungs and by letting them remain inflamed for so long can cause scar tissue to the lining in them, infection in the lining in them, it can damage my bronchial tubes, and cause me to have permanent damage inside of my lungs, which it turn would cause me to just continue having breathing problems for the rest of my life. Without missing a beat he went right into his theories of the possibilities that I could have picked up some sort of lung parasite or infection while in Hawaii. However, that he also believed it could just be the asthma reacting to the things I was exposed to while there.

"I'd like you to come down today or tomorrow." He said. "The sooner the better. I'm leaving to go out of town Friday night, so it'd be best if you could get down here today." 

"And just what do you plan on doing with me if I come." I questioned. "I'm going to run some blood work to check all your numbers, I'm going to do a few x-rays and them I'm probably going to start an IV to give you aggressive doses of steroids. We have to get the inflammation down, Tessa." He stated.

As if I didn't have a say so in it at all. I will typically fight tooth and nail against steroids. They have nearly killed me twice. Very nearly. Both times my mother was told to call in the family. They are very close to like poison for the rest of my body. They usually cause my WBC to shoot way way up, which in turned resulted in them thinking I had Leukemia at one point; they give me high blood pressure; they give me high blood sugar; they give me very intense mood swings; they make me extremely hot natured; they increase my appetite - it's seriously probably worse than a pregnant person in their third trimester - and that's definitely not good for my recent weight loss; and they drain me. It's almost as if I'm just on bed rest while I'm on them. They make me feel absolutely...just drained. Weak. Tired. Cranky. It is awful. I hate it!

However, after 5 weeks of not being able to breathe, I wasn't fighting tooth and nail against it. And that had me concerned. Cory took off work at lunch to drive down with me. We drive down to see this doctor because I don't have health insurance and he doesn't charge me for a lot of the things. Plus, he can give me samples of medicine and such. Also this particular clinic is very good about payment plans and much cheaper than anywhere in Cape.

When we arrived I immediately went down to get the blood work over with. Blood work. The easiest stick in the book. It's taken from the anterior or antecubital vein (vein in the bend of the arm). When I went in, the guy tied the little band around my arm and started to examine it. "You've been stuck a few times in your day, huh?" I laughed sarcastically, "Just a few..."

He, however, did get me in the first stick. Luckily, I tend to have zero patience with lab people who have to stick you more than once to draw your freaking blood! After that I headed over to the x-ray part. Those aren't painful, of course. Then I was back up to the doctor's office. A few of the numbers were quite high in my blood work, but the doc thinks that whatever they were just implied severe allergies. My WBC (white blood count) was a little high too. Though, not too bad. So then the serious talk broke out. The whole sticking you with needles and giving you high doses of steroids talk. Meh.

I wasn't fond of the idea at all. However, I must admit I'm less fond of the idea of causing my lungs any permanent damage, and I haven't felt good at all for the last several weeks. So, I finally agreed. I went into the little room and sat cross legged on the table.

The doctor came in and tied the band around my left forearm and started to examine my left hand. I was very insistent on them putting it in my foot. The veins in my arm are so, so tiny and they're known for rolling once the needle enters the skin and thus causing the doc to dig the needle around in there trying to hit the vein. They ignored me as if I hadn't spoken though. He was sure there was a good vein in there so he started opening all the stuff. After the alcohol swab had left a cool wet spot on the back side of my hand, I felt the tiny prick as the doctor put the needle in. I knew immediately that he had missed the vein, because it wasn't hurting. If they're anywhere near the vein with that needle...that's when it hurts! The next thing I realized (note: I never look when they stick, I know the different feelings at this point) was the slight burn and discomfort of the pulling and twisting of the skin at the needle entry point. So, I knew that he was digging for the vein. It always makes me so angry when they dig. I'd rather be stuck 10 times than one time and have them dig for it. The digging hurts.

I felt a sharp, quick pain as he hit the vein. It was in! And he was not prepared for it. He pulled the needle out leaving only the catheter in my hand. The thick, blood came rushing out the end of the catheter and started running down my hand. I quickly uncrossed my legs and let them dangle off the table so I that blood wouldn't get on my pants.

The doctor fumbled around the tubes to get them screwed into the catheter opening. Once, he finally did I could tell something was not right. In the process he had pulled it out of the vein. I was certain. So when he got the saline solution hooked up to the tube to 'flush' the vein and it wasn't going. Yet, for some reason he was insistent on trying to push it through. I felt a tiny snap inside my hand the the solution immediately rushed through the catheter and up under my skin, making a large bubble under there. He had busted my vein. The solution flowing loosely under my skin and it burned so bad. The burning is intense.

The doc had finally pulled the catheter out and my mom was cleaning up the disaster and I was cleaning up my arm. I was infuriated at this point. My hand was burning like fire. I couldn't move it. Even moving my fingers caused stinging, pain. The next burning I had was the desire to smack my doctor in the head. After several minutes of calming down we were all ready to try again. I'll spare you the details and just say that he tried 5 times total. He busted 3 veins. And he never got the IV in. My arms were two limp, limbs burning like fire and aching all over. I couldn't hold them in any way to get comfort. After the 5th stick, I had said that was enough. That he could send me home on oral meds or on nothing at all. I was done. I was sick. I haven't felt good at all for days. I had driven an hour and a half down there, had blood taken, did x-rays, and now my doctor had stuck me 5 times and busted 3 of my veins. I was ready to be at home. He was hesitant, but finally agreed to give me a prescription of oral steroids. Then, said he'd need to see me early next week and that if I weren't better, we would have to get an IV started.

The car ride home and the rest of the night were quite miserable. Bleh, and the oral steroids are the nastiest pills I've ever taken. No matter how far back you throw them into your throat or how quickly you swallow them, they leave the yuckiest, bitter after taste you can imagine. I burned up all last night and this morning my body is already feeling drained. I had to throw back two more pills this morning. *sigh* 

However, I must say...the huge lump that I've been feeling in my chest for a month does feel a lot looser this morning! Maybe this will work...