Another Grandbaby!

I have some good news I can finally share.
This is an official announcement that we are grandparents again!
Terry's son Shaun and girlfriend Amanda, who live in Portland OR had a son, named Brody Shaun.



Of course, Terry is chomping at the bit to see his new grandbaby boy. We planned to drive up 2 weeks ago, something came up, so we had to cancel. As it turned out, Terry had a job walk and measure at a grocery store owned by Kroger in Richmond, CA a suburb of Oakland. YAY, a day's work! It couldn't have worked out more perfect to coincide with our drive to Portland.

Here's the plan of our quickie turn around road trip:

Thursday May 14 - leave before the butt crack of dawn to beat LA traffic, arrive early afternoon Berkeley BART station, park the car and BART over to SF, spend a couple hours toodleing around SF, eat dinner at Fisherman's Wharf area. Early evening BART back over to Berkeley BART station to get the car, drive the 1/2 hour to our hotel in Richmond.

Friday May 15 - Terry works 6am until lunch or whenever he finishes up the store measure/walk, while I stay at the hotel. Drive 10 hours to Portland, OR.

Saturday May 16 & Sunday May 17 - Visit all day with Shaun, Amanda and baby.

Monday May 18 - Drive 10 hours to Tracy CA (South of Sacramento), check in hotel.

Tuesday May 19th - Drive 7 hours to home.

I wish we could take our time to visit more days or see relatives along the way, but this is a time and money crunch visit. Terry has a ton of work applications out there, and we would hate to miss an opportunity of a call back.

I'll post some pix when we return.
Now, if I could just remember where I put our travel toothbrushes.

Piggy hysteria

*cough, cough* again *cough, cough*

This is my life, a chronic cougher. Most times I don't even notice my random coughs unless they become full on heaving attacks. Coughing in public, has always been a sticky wicket for me. I try very hard to discreetly cough into my elbow or both hands, to not only muffle the sound but to catch my contagious germies that everyone assumes I'm so generously sharing with them.

It never ceases to amaze me the comments people so freely let fly. Comments like, "I had that last week" (don't think so) or "That doesn't sound too good" (really?) or "Maybe you should see a Dr." Um, yeah, if you only knew how often I DO see the Dr. and still, the cough never goes away. I have my canned answer to all the remarks, "I'm not contagious, it's my allergies" That usually shuts them up and puts them at ease.

So today in the grocery store line. . .

*cough, cough* again *cough, cough*

turns into another
*cough, cough* again *cough, cough*

back away from the line, turn my head and
*cough, cough* again *cough, cough*

All the while coughing, I was trying very hard to discreetly mask my cough as I always do. I'm very aware of the stares of horror my sudden outburst of coughs create. I finally feel like I'm composed and proceed to the end of the line again. The woman in front of me turns and says, "Have you heard about the swine flu? Maybe you should stay home, just in case."

Me, in disbelief, ditched my canned response and abruptly said, "No swine flu here, just a little terminal lung disease." She quickly turned around forward and I switched lines. I felt my blood boil and knew I had to leave the area before explosion. Ugh, I so felt like a labeled pariah. Maybe I should just stamp my forehead with "no I'm not contagious."

The media is frenzied over the swine flu. True, it could become a reality, rendering a multitude of people sick. Granted a flu that will make them sick and have to stay home from work or school. For the most part, normal people who catch it will not die. Only those with chronic health problems will be at risk for death, like me.

Welcome to my world. I take precautions every single day of my life to keep from getting sick. My trusty bottles of Purell follow me everywhere, ready at a moments notice to wash my hands. I worry every day about catching a cold from grocery shopping, a worse scenario for me that the flu for you. When in public, I meticulously pay attention to everyone around me, scoping out potential sick people. The slightest sniffle or cough detours my path to go out of my way to avoid them, but in a discreet way. I would never think to make a rude comment about the state of their health.

You can bet if the swine flu invades OC, I won't go anywhere or have very little contact with anyone. I won't think twice about going in public with mask and gloves. Stare at me all you want, won't bother me.

*Snort snort* Now that I think about it, maybe the sight of me decked out in my protective garb will keep everyone away from me. 

It would sure make my life a whole lot easier.

A happy, pooped weekend

This last weekend was interesting. Both extremely busy, productive and surprising in many ways.
Why pooped? Well read on and see why . . .

First off, Saturday was our annual neighborhood garage sale. It was sponsored by our tract realtors who heavily advertise, put up signs and bring us donuts as we sell. We participate every year to rid ourselves of cast offs, junk, clothes, and trinkets. We always have a great turn out making our day worth while. This year was no different . . . to the tune of $407.00, a truck load of extras hauled off to Goodwill and lots of empty boxes. YAY!

I vowed to never leave my kids the burdensome task of cleaning out my collected junk when I leave this earth. I finally came to the conclusion that I needed to purge all the stuff I've had piled in closets, thinking someday I'll use it or need it. If it hadn't touched it for a year, it was tagged and earmarked for elimination from my life.

For weeks before the big day, I'd take a room at a time, purposefully touching just about every item we own. I'd ask myself, do I need it? At first it was hard to part with some things, but it got easier as I mentally let go. After a while I was on a mission. I was a mad woman, roving from room to room glaring at everything, what else can I get rid of . . . muuwaaahaahaa!

Then came the difficult task. My Mom's boxed things that I had saved, for the ole sentimental reasons. Like the silver plated tea service passed down to my Mom from my dear great Aunt Lee. I have never used it, Jen didn't want a stuffy looking, ornate silver set. What to do? Price it and see what happens. BTW, it never sold and is now on Craigs list.

When my mom passed away 9 years ago, she had at least a 50 year accumulation of stuff. In my eyes a lot of it was junk, but for whatever reasons, she held on to things that should have been tossed years ago. Being a child of the depression, surely had some impact in her hoarding. Much of it held sentimental value, like old dishes from when she and my Dad first got married, even though boxed and not used for decades. It was an enormous undertaking to sort through and get rid of her treasures. I felt guilty every time I tossed, sold, or gave away. These were her things that she held dear. I was, in essence, disecting and throwing her life away.

The things my Mom's husband saved was a whole different story. His domain was the garage, filled with tools, do dads, gizmos, and the most scary, containers of unknown dangerous chemicals. His passing 7 years before my Mom, left the garage intact with his crazy crap. Thank goodness his kids filled 3 truckloads of stinky, greasy unknown containers to the hazardous waste dump.

Back to the sale . . . I was so busy on Thursday and Friday organizing, pricing, boxing and unboxing junk. I ate on the run and barely noticed that I had not gone to the bathroom, you know, #2 bathroom. I felt constipated but really, nothing registered. I quit taking my enzymes a couple months back and had no problems at all. I chalked my 'lack of dump' to busy and nerves.

Saturday morning came early, unpacking boxes at 6am for the early birds. I had a stomach ache and blew it off. As the day progressed, the ache continued and the urge to go was pronounced but I couldn't go. The sale ended in the afternoon, we sent out for chinese take out, ate, and it HIT! I HAVE TO GO NOW! Problem is I couldn't. Oye, I felt like I needed a roto rooter job. Even though I have never experienced this problem, I knew exactly what was wrong, a bowel obstruction. In the CF world, bowel obstructions are common. Not being able to digest foods properly leads to all kinds of GI problems with back ups, diarrhea, extreme gas, and not absorbing calories, nutrients and vitamins the body needs.

The pain became excruciating even after taking Miralax and Milk of Magnesia. Nothing seemed to work. I was in agony and crying. I couldn't sit, I couldn't stand. Finally at 6pm, I cried uncle and begged Terry to take me to the ER. Oh great, what in the world would they have to do to my bum, were thoughts that raced through my mind. The revolting image of a plumbers snake, probing deeper and deeper, overpowered my mind as I writhed in the car seat trying to find a position less painful.

I enter the ER, lots of people, great. I fill out the quicky info form and immediately circle the #10 pain face on the scale of 1 to 10, what is your pain. That should speed up my admit. They bring me back within 5 minutes, take my blood pressure, temp, and ask a few ??. As the nurse clipped the lovely hospital bracelet on my wrist, I felt liquid warmth, in my jeans. Uh oh, I plead for a bathroom NOW! I now know the liquid miracles I drank earlier were finally working. It didn't take long for the whole load to evacuate. WHEW, HUGE RELIEF! I felt like I had just given birth to several softballs, but I didn't care, they were gone from me, happily being flushed down the toilet.

I exited the bathroom with a calm, relaxed look on my face and Terry knew instantly what had happened. I told the nurse, but she said I still had to see the Dr. since I was officially admitted to ER. Thankfully, the Doc came right over, asked if I felt better (well, yeah), looked at me in amazement and couldn't believe he was talking to a 53 yo CFer (oh no, here we go again), asked if I wanted an exam, (no thanks), and said have a great evening! Outta there!

We drive home, relieved, me completely 'pooped' out tired and in bed early. Turned out to be a 'productive' day all around. ; )

And enzymes . . . definitely back on my menu with meals. Oh joy.

Huh, what's this?

It's the war zone.

Clippers, combs and scissors vs Bucky.

And this was only Round 2 of 4.

Every Spring, we have Bucky shaved into a lion cut. People ask us why on earth would we have the cat shaved. Well, simple answer. 

FUR BALLS. 

Fur balls that lodge in his stomach that create huge vet bills.

Fur balls invade the house as his winter coat sheds. Our carpet turns from oatmeal color to polka dotted black splotched. I'm constantly picking up and vaccuuming up enough fur balls to make a sweater. I've actually thought about that before. Hmmmm, a Bucky fur sweater, I bet it would be warm.

His fur is very fine and long. By the end of winter, he has massive fur matts under his legs, on his belly, and dangling from his butt fluff. Not to mention that said butt fluff harbors all kinds of stick-to-the-fur nasty poopy residue, pewww-eeee. 

The first crack of Spring brings on the big shed. One year, despite our smearing fur ball Petromalt glue in his mouth every day, he still ended up in the vet with a massive fur ball that required 3 enemas to pass it. The vet said if the 3rd one didn't work, they would have to surgically remove it. Um, no we don't want to go there again, so lion cut it is. 

I took him to Petsmart for the first couple cuts. The groomer was impressed with how well behaved Bucky was during the process. He became a statue, stayed in any position she laid him, while the clipper buzzed his fur off. $60 please for less than an hour of clippity clip.

That looks like a piece of cake I thought. Being the do-it-yourselfer that I am, I bought the exact clippers the groomer used and decided to clip him myself the next time. Plus in my naive thinking, I could do a quick clip job once a month during the summer months without the 2 to 3 Petsmart visits per season. The time was now so no time like the present. I gathered towels, combs, brushes, scissors, shaver, and Bucky and locked us in the bathroom for our first session. Immediately the screaming protests began as Bucky stink-eyed all the scary looking instruments around him. 

Now do you think for a second that Bucky would behave for me like he did the groomer. HA! No, No, NO! It took all the muscles I had to hold him down with my left arm while the right manuevered the clippers very carefully over the moving target body. His back and smaller areas, that I could get to, took me over an hour . . . enough for the 1st day. I could see this would not be as easy as I once thought. Plus I was exhausted, covered with fur and sneezing. So for 2 more days, I clipped a little here, a little there reassuring Bucky the whole time, that yes he would survive another day . The fourth day included a bath for a clean rear end, and one more day of clipping the butt fluff . . . by far the hardest and worst. I did most of it with comb and scissors. He would not let me even come close to the nether regions with the blue buzzing monster. Do you blame him?

And before anyone thinks, oh how mean to shave your cat, think again. When all is said and done, Bucky actually loves his new do. He begs for more petting because he can feel it on his skin. And I know not having to lick all that long hair is a relief for him. He seems very happy and more energetic once the fur and the process is history.

Before and after

So, here I sit, with sore arms, a few unintentional scratches, and a bruised ego to think my 20 lb cat can put ME through such misery and fight. 

But I love him anyway.

And I have a whole new appreciation for the groomer too.

fear

Fear is powerful.
Fear is complex.
Facing fear is terrifying.

Like it or not, I've come to realize that my life revolves around and thrives on fear. And by fear, I don't mean the scaredy-cat, fear of heights or clowns. Although I have been known to cringe at the sight of Bozo and I hate to fly. My familiar fear becomes an all encompassing reality that plays on my emotions. But, I also welcome fear when it serves as a beneficial catalyst, kicking my butt into gear. Fear of the unknown makes me work harder in a positive direction, just so I don't go to THAT place of unknown.

Even as a kid, fear motivated me. I always tried to please my parents so I wouldn't get into trouble. My Dad was hard on my 2 older brothers, I never wanted that wrath bestowed upon me. Being the youngest, I took lots of notes from their mistakes to avoid the same fate. I worked hard in school to get good grades, for fear of retribution if I didn't. I always had a fear of a higher power, showering me with reckoning consequences from any bad behavior. So, I tried to be a good girl. Hmmmm. Ha!

As I matured, fear took an unconcious back seat living my rebellious teen years, no fear lifestyle. I quickly realized that kind of life was not for me, got married @ 21, had 2 babies. Fear was absent and replaced with pregnancies, building a family and happiness until my CF diagnosis @ 25. That was a devastating, real life mortality fear. My mind became overwhelmed with unknown questions of what was ahead. Will I survive the one year the Doc gave me to live? Will it be painful? Will I ever live to see my babies grow up?

As time marched on, I realized that my CF was not going to kill me in the near future. As life calmed down and I regained health, my fears and questions for myself subsided. I was too busy raising my kids to worry about fear for myself. Fear was reserved for anything directed at my kids, whether it be physical or emotional. My personal displaced fears were piled into their well being, keeping them safe. I know I failed miserably, protecting at least Jen from emotional fear. At times she was overcome with the 'what if's' of life. She has done that since day 1, always asking me an outrageous 'what if' questions of some catastrophic event that would never happen. For instance, "what if the sky turned yellow, rained for a year and we all drowned." I went through a lot of years of trying to reassure her as a little girl, that no, this or that would not happen. I would wonder where the heck these irrational, unreasonable fears, were coming from. Wild imagination or real fear? *shrugs*

Divorce from my kid's Dad, started the BIG FEAR monster raging, out of control. How on earth am I going to support me and my kids by myself? How can I be Mother and Father? How can my son have a positive man, Father role model when his own Dad was mostly absent? How can I reassure my kids that everything was going to be OK when I didn't even feel it myself? How am I going to do this, period! Not to mention the real life, painful fear my kids suffered as a result of their Dad leaving. He will never know the depth to which his decisions shaped them. To this day, that fear is still present and being dealt with . . . I don't think it will EVER go away.

Gradually, over the years, my fear has reappeared in a different way, a good way, front and center in my life. Fear motivates me to climb out of denial and face what needs to be done medically and healthwise. I unconsciously hold fear close to me, within reach, constantly reminding me of consequences of what could be if I'm not a compliant, take charge CFer.

I fear for my loved ones, not knowing the impact CF will inflict on them. I fear for Terry, someday becoming my caregiver, a role he has signed up for by being my husband. A loving man who has assured me, that he is not going anywhere but to be by my side to the end. That is such a comfort. I fear for my kids, not wanting pain for them seeing me progress downhill, so I hide it when I can. I fear for my littlest grandbabies, that they will remember me. I try hard to create fun memories, so they can say, "I remember, Grandee loved me."

I fear physical pain, but I don't fear death. To me, death is my escape when life on earth goes from bad to worse to unbearable. I know I'll be in a much better place without pain or fear and able to breathe again.

For now, I recognize my fears and welcome them as a part of my life.
Good and bad.
From beginning to end.

Happy Keester!

This was just too cute not to post.

ALL I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT LIFE
I LEARNED FROM THE EASTER BUNNY

Don't put all of your eggs in one basket
Walk softly and carry a big carrot
Everyone needs a friend who is all ears
There's no such thing as too much candy
All work and no play can make you a basket case
A cute little tail attracts a lot of attention
Everyone is entitled to a bad hare day
Let happy thoughts multiply like rabbits
Some body parts should be floppy
Keep your paws off other people's jellybeans
Good things come in small sugar-coated packages
The grass is always greener in someone else's basket
An Easter bonnet can tame even the wildest hare
To show your true colors you have to come out of your shell
 
Have a Happy Easter, my friends.
 

The pile of crap that is 2009 . . . so far.

Oye. I was so hoping for a good year. Turns out this is probably one of the worst stress inducing pile of 3 months I've had in years. And I can't blame it all on CF.

#1 - No Money Stressor
The economy has hit us waaaaaay below the belt. Terry has had NO work. I take that back, I lied, maybe a total of 3 days since New Years. Whoopie.

Self employed architect = no work = no money coming in = no unemployment or any other kind of $$ help that everyone else gets. He has applied for work everywhere, Home Depot, Lowes, even Disneyland, no place is off limits when it comes to a job. And guess what – surprise, surprise – every place is laying off, not hiring. Online jobs = a joke or a scam preying on desperate, job seeking folks.

#2 - Health Crisis Stressor
My February hemoptysis incident. See 2 posts below, ouch.

#3 - Cars Taking a Dump Stressor
Both Terry's truck and my car required large repair bills in February. Our vehicles are 10 & 11 years old and we've been very lucky that we have never had major problems, until now. Wouldn't you know, they both whine for big dollar repairs when no money is coming in.

#4 - House Taking a Dump Stressor
The house must have been jealous when it heard the cars collecting a bail out. (Sound familiar? . . . not even going to go there) Our main sewer line from the kitchen to the city sewer, pooped out. Plugged up, wouldn't drain, couldn't snake it, just cracked and broke. URGH!!! The plumber dug a nice 6' deep x 4' wide hole in the front planter to tie in a new line to the city sewer. Then a 1' wide x 3' deep trench was dug out of the grass, the whole length of the front yard to accomodate the new pipe. Now there are reminder grass lumps and bumps of a huge hole & trench in our front yard. Not to mention the huge hole in our cash reserves. HA! Or what's left of it.

#5 - The-old-dump-the-vacation-home Stressor
Because of the crappy economy, we decided to sell our little mountain cabin in Lake Arrowhead. It is no longer feasible for us to keep it up financially. This was a heartbreaking decision that we dreaded. Although, we have known for about a year, that physically, it was hard for me to stay in the altitude of almost 6,000 ft for any length of time. My lungs labored with every visit. For both reasons, health and financial, it's time. It will very hard to say goodbye to our little get-away when and if it sells.

#5a - The-old-dump-the-vacation-home-something-goes-wrong Stressor
Related to #5. We went up to the cabin to thoroughly clean it up before it hits the market. There was still snow on the ground and roof. A huge branch on the roof, lay stuck in the snow. We unpack the truck and Terry retrieved the ladder from the basement. He crawls onto the roof and it begins to snow. He quickly grabs the branch and pulls . . . uh oh reisistance. It finally pulls out . . . yes out . . . of the hole it made in the roof. Terry starts slipping off the roof as the snow quickly blankets the roof!!! He carefully climbs down the ladder realizing, the roof is too slippery and steep to go back up to fix it. NOW WHAT? We've got a 5" flippin hole in our roof above a bedroom with alternating wet snow and hail pouring in. Plus, it is Sunday. We immediately try to contact a roofing company on the phone. Finally, after about 5 calls, success! A very nice young man came out and fashioned a shingle from metal and bravely navigated the slippery roof to cover the hole temporarily. It worked. He said he would be out later in the week, after the snow stops to fix it for good.

He called us Friday, all done. Yeah, no more hole on the roof but a gaping hole in the check book we can't afford now.

#6 - Cancer Invades Terry's Nose Stressor
Terry found out the strange, growing bump on his nose is skin cancer, basal cell carcinoma. Mind you, only after months of me urging, (bordering on nagging which I hate), did he finally get it checked and biopsied. So this last Tuesday, Terry had surgery, a huge chunk cut and dug off his nose. The next day, the plastic surgeon weaved his magic to make it all look like a normal nose again. He has a 1 1/2" stitched cut on the right side of his nose. He's not too worried about the healing and the scar, but rather the incidence of reoccurance. Hopefully this is a done deal. Now maybe I need to nag him about making an appt. for his 4 year overdue colonoscopy, he he. ; )

#7 - BYE BYE Retirement Stressor
The stock market screwed our retirement and IRA's . . . ENOUGH SAID.

#8 - Heartbreak Stressor : (
By far, the most enormous anguish and heartbreak of my life right now. I won't discuss specifics here, because it is a personal family problem that I choose to not make public. Suffice to say, it has literally cut me to the core leaving me awake at night wondering and praying "why?". I'm devastated to see the people I love the most on this earth in such pain, agony and distress caused by another. I feel so helpless, yet am trying to support and understand as much as I'm capable. I don't see this going away any time soon.

I think that's enough in under 3 months - blech.
It's no wonder I can't sleep and have a constant headache.

Hmmm, I guess . . . .

it's time for an update.
And for once I have 2 pieces of great CF news.

I went to see Dr. R a week after my hemo Hoag incident. He said it looked like I recovered nicely from the whole ordeal. But, I was concerned because I was very SOB. He said that was all too common after a major bleed. He said blood in the vessels is a very good thing, outside the vessels floating around body cavities is NOT a good thing. The old blood was creating all kinds of havoc for my small airways to function, hence the SOB. He said to expect about 6 weeks for the old blood in my lung cavity to completely absorb or cough out. I've clearly noticed less SOB over the last couple days and have actually been able to go on long walks and navigate the stairs much easier. Let's see, twas exactly a month ago tomorrow I had my embolization.
1 month = not bad for an old broad.

But the best CF change I've had is, TA DA . . .

I haven't had to take one enzyme since mid January, 

Woooo Hoooo!

And who knows why my pancreas has decided to start secreting digestive enzymes again. Even my Dr. is stumped. Last April, after my pancreatitis attack, my pancreas completely quit functioning. I was dependent on taking enzymes before everything I ate, or I'd have extreme stomach aches and some pretty nasty toilet incidents. It continued through Sept/Oct on our France trip, quite severely the whole trip, which I attributed to change of diet, time change, etc.

Then around Christmas time, I noticed that my bowels and digestion seemed more normal and I had no stomach aches. I was gaining weight too. I purposefully quit taking the enzymes when eating mild, low fat foods. Nothing happened, everything was normal. Yes! I gradually tapered off the enzymes with each meal until I was completely off. I've been totally back to normal since. I can't tell you how good it feels to eat 'normally' again and ditch 25-30 pills a day.

*shrugs, and then does the happy dance*

Good thing too, those suckers are expensive with a capital E . . . to the tune of about $2,000 for a month's supply. I was MORE than happy to stop taking them. In the mean time, my CF nutritionalist said she has heard this happen only a couple other times, but she will continue monitoring me and my progress. The only downside, but yet not really, I'm gaining weight easily. Proof again that my pancreas is indeed digesting and absorbing all the calories and nutrients my body needs.



So next time you see me, and I seem to have put on a few, 

congratulate me.
They be some well earned and welcome poundage. Munch, munch.

Pop, gurgle, cough, spit- Uh oh!!

Yuck, Hemoptysis or coughing up blood.

Nothing prepares me for the shock when I see bright, red blood come directly from my lungs. It is an unmistakeable feeling and I know immediately what's going to follow as soon as the 'pop' happens.

I've had 3 other episodes of Hemoptysis in the past, mostly just a few coughs of red, it subsided and went away on it's own. This time was very different and scared me.

I was babysitting the grandbabies overnight and had just put them to bed. I came back downstairs to the family room and felt it, took a deep breath and felt the sickening, ooze feeling and the gurgles. I ran to the bathroom and coughed, a mouthful of blood spilled into the toilet. My eyes widened and I felt weird. Never have I seen an amount like that.

I ran, if you want to call it running, back upstairs to tell Terry. It was 7:30pm. I coughed a few more times trying to clear the goo from my left lung. Every 5 minutes, the bright red, fresh blood came up about a teaspoon to a tablespoon at a time. I called Jen and told her what was happening, my fear that I might have to go to the emergency room if it got worse. She came right over to spend the night here rather than wake the kids and take them home.

I started drinking iced water to try to restrict capillaries and blood flow. Finally by 10:00pm it seemed to calm down, I decided to try to get some sleep, if possible. I tossed and turned coughing and spitting until about 1:00am. I went back downstairs to try to sleep upright in the recliner couch. It was then that it happened again, BIG gurgle, in the bathroom, filling my mouth twice.

HUGE red flags and whistles went off, screaming, 'too much'. I called my on-call Dr. emergency line, thank goodness Dr. R was on-call that night. After confirming the amounts were 'way too much' he asked where was my nearest emergency room. He said to go to Hoag in Newport Beach, he knew a few pulmonologists there.

I could hear in Dr. R's tired voice as he stressed 'nearest', I then knew, how serious this was. The fear of bleeding to death crossed my mind as this happened to an online acquaintance just 2 weeks ago. We jumped in the car, got to Hoag in 10 minutes, and entered the emergency room. We were the only ones in the waiting room thank God. As soon as the nurses saw me carrying bloody kleenexes near my mouth they rushed me back. I was seen by a emergency doc right away, he called my Dr. back and they agreed to admit me and schedule a bronchoscopy ASAP to see what was going on. By the time I got to a room, it was 9:00am, still bleeding off and on. The bronch was scheduled for 1:00pm.

At this point I was very uneasy, not being near my doc and hospital. Over the years I have dealt with too many doctors and nurses that don't have a clue about CF. Not that they should, that is why we have specialized docs, clinics and hospitals that know how to treat CF. I've heard so many ludicrous questions about my CF from medical personnel, like, 'Are you sure you have CF, you don't look like it' , 'But you are much too old to even possibly have CF' , 'Were you exposed to asbestos, is that how you have this condition?' , and my favorite and most common, 'How did you catch CF?'. Grrrrr, I hear docs and nurses say these things, and now I'm supposed to let you treat me? The Hoag experience in the emergency room was no exception. I clearly have no patience for staff wanting 'to see the old CF patient' and proceed to ask me a million dumb questions. I'm so done being a dog and pony show piece.

Upon meeting the pulmonolgist that would perform the bronch, he put me at ease. He interned at National Jewish Hospital in Denver for 3 years, a world renowned pulmonary hospital treating CF, TB and other lung ailments. He has treated 100s of CF patients and is very well versed in CF care. He chatted with me for quite a while and explained the bronch in detail. Great, a tube threaded up my nose and down into my lungs for a peek see. Yeah, something definitely NOT looking forward to. The bronch lasted about 1/2 hour, I was awake but given Versed that made me sleepy yet aware. I could hear him suctioning out about a cup of blood, and he asked me to cough a few times. He allowed me to wake enough for me to see the tubes coming out of my nose.

The bronch revealed an Aneurysm (a blood filled balloon vessel ready to pop) and several bleeder vessels that blew first in my left lower lobe. A call was placed to Dr. R and an emergency embolization was agreed upon, scheduled at 5:00. An embolization is performed by interventional radiology. A catheter is threaded up through the main groin artery, and into the lungs. A dye is injected to isolate the bleeders and then a superglue type medication injected to chemically cauterize the bleeds. While they were in there, they took care of the Aneurysm. Thank God I went in when I did, if that Aneurysm had popped, I could have bled to death.

Again, I was awake but in la la land for the embolization with the same drug Versed. They woke me during the last part of the procedure, asking me to hold my breath for xrays to make sure they got all the bleeders. And I experienced them pulling out the catheters, ugh. This was a very stressful, full day. No sleep, no food, and 2 nerve wracking procedures.

The good news, the bleeding, continued very slightly the first night, which is expected. By the next day, nearly nothing was coming up - YEAH! The doc wanted to keep me in the hospital for observation through Monday, but I pleaded to let me go home to sleep. He finally agreed, since I was pretty stable, with the instructions to come right back if the bleeds started up again. Done deal, so now I'm home.

Other than I feel like I've been kicked in the groin and a slight sore throat from the bronch, I feel pretty good. Just not going to do ANYTHING the next couple of days. I really don't want a repeat of Thursday.

Welcome to the world of CF. I just never know from day to day what I will face. And another glaring reminder of just how fragile and precarious my life has become.

Happy Valentine's Day - BAH!

Surely, I can't be the only woman who feels this way. 

I know I must be in the minority, but I just can't bring myself to celebrate a manufactured, fake holiday. I've always felt Valentine's Day was an attempt by card companies, florists, restaurants, jewelers, et al just to make a buck. 

Sorry, I don't buy it, I recognize a scam when I see it.

Thankfully, Terry feels the same way.

We are happy with a smooch and a smile, and we are on our way with just another day.