I lay in the dark in my bed, late at night listening to the humming & whirring of the oxygen machine in the other room. Even though it's muffled by the walls between the rooms, I can still hear it. I am tied to it 24/7 now. I lay there and try not to think about it; try to think about anything else except this rapid decline in my health. We all know how that usually works; it's all you can think about. No matter how hard I try to think of other things, my thoughts just go down the long and winding road of what this means. The doctors have told me I am very, very sick. I "should" have a lung transplant but they won't give me one. I even got the formal written "rejection" letter - as I like to call it - in the mail the other day. I already knew this was the case; the doctor had called me weeks ago to tell me the Transplant Committee was not going to approve me for a transplant. Thanks, I needed to see it in writing to believe you meant what you said. I know, they have to do that. So if I don't have a lung transplant, what does that mean? And the circle of thoughts just keeps going and I can't fall asleep.
Why is it that everything is worse at night when you are sick? You can seem to do OK during the day. You think maybe you might be making progress; there are distractions. Then the night comes, and your symptoms are worse and your fears return and you can't fall asleep. All those drugs mess with my ability to sleep. I cannot breathe laying down, so I must attempt to sleep sitting up. With oxygen tubing on my face. Yeah, that isn't annoying.
So I stare into the darkness. Listening to the humming in the next room. Wondering what is going to be. Is the medication doing what it's supposed to do? Is it stopping this awful disease from getting worse? Will it work? For how long?
Close my eyes, repeat my positive affirmation. Try to switch focus and hope I will fall asleep. Sleep. So precious and so taken for granted until you can't. If I can just fall asleep, the brain will shut down and I will get a respite from all those thoughts and the whirring noise in the next room.
I reach out to see if the cat is there. She is and I pet her. It's comforting and relaxing to have her laying next to me. Focus on the purring of the cat as I pet her instead of the noise in the other room.
Eventually sleep will come. Well, some nights it does. So now I just sleep whenever it overtakes me. Day or night. I'll sleep whenever I can. Whenever my mind quiets itself and allows me the relief that sleep brings.
Why is it that everything is worse at night when you are sick? You can seem to do OK during the day. You think maybe you might be making progress; there are distractions. Then the night comes, and your symptoms are worse and your fears return and you can't fall asleep. All those drugs mess with my ability to sleep. I cannot breathe laying down, so I must attempt to sleep sitting up. With oxygen tubing on my face. Yeah, that isn't annoying.
So I stare into the darkness. Listening to the humming in the next room. Wondering what is going to be. Is the medication doing what it's supposed to do? Is it stopping this awful disease from getting worse? Will it work? For how long?
Close my eyes, repeat my positive affirmation. Try to switch focus and hope I will fall asleep. Sleep. So precious and so taken for granted until you can't. If I can just fall asleep, the brain will shut down and I will get a respite from all those thoughts and the whirring noise in the next room.
I reach out to see if the cat is there. She is and I pet her. It's comforting and relaxing to have her laying next to me. Focus on the purring of the cat as I pet her instead of the noise in the other room.
Eventually sleep will come. Well, some nights it does. So now I just sleep whenever it overtakes me. Day or night. I'll sleep whenever I can. Whenever my mind quiets itself and allows me the relief that sleep brings.
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