That time again, in more ways than one.

I know, I'm a bad, bad blogger. My entries have become few and far between. It's not that I haven't had anything to say or write about. Trust me, I've got PLENTY to say. Unfortunately, the all consuming subject I have plenty to say about, I won't talk about here. And those close to me, know what I'm referring to.

That said, literally, everything else has taken a back burner. So much so, that I've been neglectful of certain areas of my life, like this blog.

And sleep.

Oh, how I miss my sleep.

My mind will not shut off. The 2am bewitching hour rolls around, and as if on cue . . . *bink*. . . my eyes open, I'm wide awake. I toss and turn, arrange my pillows in a myriad of mounded configurations, trying to get comfortable. I switch my brain to think of peaceful, relaxing things, but to no avail. My insomnia then becomes Terry's problem as I keep him up with my bed bouncing, trying-to-get-comfortable gymnastics. No matter how hard I try, I cannot go back to sleep. I finally give up and get up. I know I'm done for the night, ugh.

Being a sleep deprived Jodi, is not a pretty sight. Crankiness and no patience sets in along with couch potato-itis. The result? About 15 lbs. in the last year, over and above a comfortable weight for me. I know I need to get my sorry butt up and out for walks or exercising, but I'm too tired. My mind in turn tells me that if I do indeed try to exercise, I'll wear myself out so therefore maybe I'll sleep better. I also know that my decreasing lung function contributes to the 'no motivation to exercise.' Hmmmm, I've got to find a way around the Catch 22, vicious, mind-tired cycle. Can someone give me a kick start?

Numerous nights of sleep deprivation, add in emotional stress, a huge pinch of uncontrollable coughing, becomes a recipe for full scale health decline. I've felt it coming for at least a month. My last clinic visit along with my declining PFTs were revealing the all too familiar story and ending for me.

Last weekend was the last straw. I coughed all night for 2 solid nights, not sleeping a wink. Drudging up the stairs became a chore fighting for breath. Low grade fevers hovered over me like a cloud. Any sort of energy to do anything was a passing thought. Infection was settling in and I was physically and mentally spent.

I waved the white flag and surrendered.
I emailed my CF nurse on Tuesday morning first thing, asking for a 'sick' appointment to be seen in clinic. Within minutes of my email, she called me and said, "girl, with all you've got going, I've been wondered when you would concede. I'm requesting you be admitted right now, sight unseen. I know when you ask to come in, you're ready." She was absolutely right, I know when it's time.

Time again for a tune up.

I checked in to USC Tuesday @ noon for another round of IV antibiotic cocktails. It is now Saturday, I'm still in lock up and feeling much better. The productive cough has subsided . . . the magic, poisonous elixirs are doing their job. I'm starting to get bored, and feel like a caged animal.

That's when I know, it's time.
Time to go back home.