Thursday, June 30, 2016

Monday Surprises

Two weeks ago I had my CF clinic. I felt pretty confident going in because I had been swimming 5 days a week for 9 weeks at that point. I felt good, energetic, and was still compliant with my treatments. I was excited to tell my doctor I was swimming and because summer is usually my healthy season I was more than ready for a quick and easy clinic visit.

Soon after arrival the RT brought in the pft machine and I did my first blow. My eyes scanned the computer screen waiting for the results. The numbers that flashed on the screen shocked me. My numbers were lower than I had seen in a very long time. I sorta laughed telling my RT that I must have made a mistake because those numbers were ridiculously sad. However, there was a sinking feeling in my heart because I have never actually messed up a pft, after doing them for so many years it is a hard thing to do wrong. Just as I had secretly expected, but hoped to no end was not true, the next two blows were consistently low. I was left dumbfounded. Everyone seemed a little baffled that I was working out, felt great, and had no clue that my numbers had plummeted. My doctor ended up deciding to put me on oral because of a unusual (but not concerning) new bacteria in my culture. I agreed, happy to do something, anything to improve my horrible numbers, but was utterly confused as to how I could have an infection and feel... well perfectly normal.

Fast forward three few days, I was waiting for my meds after a problem with my first pharmacy, when I started to feel the telltale signs of an infection: fevers. The next several days my fevers flared, despite my lungs feeling okay. If it weren't for my low pfts I would have easily blamed the fevers on a different infection because my lungs actually felt fine, but I kept reassuring myself that my low numbers confirm that my lungs were the ones wreaking havoc on my body.

And then one week after my clinic appointment, an entire week after my low numbers I sat up in bed after a good night sleep to start my day only to feel the weight of my lungs, brimming with infection causing them to feel monstrously heavy. So heavy in fact, that I felt they may just fall from my body to the mattress below. My husband saw my grimace, heard the sound that puffed from my chest, and watched my body move in the way it does when your lungs are completely infested with millions of bacteria that are quickly taking over and said, "there it is...". He was right...there is was. The infection had finally reared it's ugly head a week after it tried to warn me.

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