I was sitting in the waiting room because my lungs keep doing this thing where they stop working and make me cough and it feels like my chest is getting stabbed. Wth.
So I went to get checked (finally) after four days of coughing and not breathing and waking up not breathing because I died in my dreams.
She was pleasant.
She walked in, asked me how I was, placed me on a nebulizer treatment right tf away, and told me she wanted to do an X-ray on my chest, a STAT CTA scan on my blood stream to make sure I didn’t have blood clots or a pulmonary embolism, and to go to the emergency room if I still felt the same. Handed me a note to pick up my doctors note at the front desk, schedule the damned appointments, and reminded me to pick up my antibiotics, inhaler, and a nasal antihistamine to make sure it wasn’t allergies. And she places me on a second nebulizer treatment because this time, she hears rattling when I breathe, now. She said go to the emergency room if you can’t get this fixed by Friday.
It’s Sunday night. I still feel the same. I didn’t go to no emergency room. I ain’t no sissy. I ain’t no sissy.
But I have to go see her tomorrow and tell her that I have to babysit this cat for a whole week.
While struggling to breathe.
Well I’m kind of broke, after having to pay 2x rent for 2 months. Coz I pick really awesome friends. Whatever.
But hey, I’ll see the doc tomorrow and she’s gonna put me on another nebulizer treatment, tell me to go to the emergency room again, and run around like she can pump me with all the medication so she can fix me.
While I just sit and wait to die.
I’m not. But it’s interesting that a stranger cares more about my ability to breathe than I do.