Monday, February 28, 2011

Respiratory therapist visit

I had my visit from my Rep. therapist. She looked at the numbers off the O2 sat monitors and said not to worry, I'll still be covered for funding. The numbers were low, very low, to the point that she asked me how on earth I am still working and running around without O2 and conscious. Yeah, the last part's been a struggle.

She gave me a few recommendations but not before we established that our paths crossed at one point long long ago. We have a friend in common. One of my earliest girlfriends. You see I went to a Queer youth group back in the day and dated a certain girl who I'm still in touch with and friends today. My rep therapist was apparently her straight friend that supported my friend and brought her to the youth group. Ah small towns. As much as this city has grown over the years, it still remains a big town in my mind. I don't like that I am back in the town I was born and raised in. I miss my Montreal life so much so. I had the opportunity to gaze at Montreal's skyline when la femme picked me up at the train station for her on-base grad (oh, I'm so proud of her). I miss living in a city with an actual sky-line. I could not live there now if my life depended on it. I'm just not bilingual enough (although I'm proud to say that la femme has pointed out that some converstations are almost exclusively in french (ok maybe not good french, but french nonetheless).

Back to the respiratory therapist's visit: She gave me a few stern warnings. Something that I hesitate to write here for fear of legal repercussions, but something I know anyway and haven't actually been doing in a while: I can't be driving long-distance anymore (unless I'm wearing O2). So guess what my next step is: getting a portable O2 compressor. I would rather swallow my pride than lose my freedom!

Since I moved to days and started facing regular rush hour traffic I haven't used the highway anyway. I am lucky enough (my choice actually) to live within a reasonable commute to cut through the city. That is why I will never move in with ma belle: she lives in suburb so far away that you have to use the highway unless you want to spend over an hour on the road. I do not. So there you have it, my freedom is being cut - sorta. I've also made the decision to choose my routes wisely until I get the portable.

And of course, yet another "medical" professional looking at my numbers and wondering how on earth I can survive with an o-sat rate of 68% (upon walking up the stairs). (No alarm bells, when I'm seated it's at about 75%- just like I thought). It's called miracles. It's called spiritneuroimmunology. It's called a will to live.