Meet my pet, Denial

OK. Tired of this sick thing. No more. Out the door.

I suffered (yes, suffered) from pneumonia a couple of years or so ago. We became intimate because I had refused to meet my "new normal."

Instead, I felt awful, spent almost a week lying on the couch, taking Tylenol and hitting my rescue inhaler every four hours. Finally, Connie came over, took one look at me and said I needed to go to the doctor.
I spent 10 days lying in the hospital bed. Not so unusual. Lots of us PHers spend time at our friendly ERs.

The point of this tale of woe: OK,  here it is: I was (and am) in denial. Percentage wise, PH kills 100 percent, if nothing else comes along first. I did my homework. I see myself as a realist. So, why do I not understand the severity of my illness?

Part of the answer lies in talking with other PHers. My PH falls in the moderate category, although the powers that be change up the categories as they learn more about the disease. Many, many of my friends fall into the severe range. Listening to them, my ills seem a trifle.

Next in the denial list: the oxygen issue. When the doc first mentioned it, I thought, oh no, not me. He did not push, just said it would help and let it be. Then I had a round of sickness. I begged the doc for o2. I managed to work full time a few years toting my bottle in a bag. At home, I faithfully used it 24/7. Sometimes, especially sweeping and other similar chores, the tubing gets in the way. I began to leave the tubing strung over a chair while I "just did this little thing." That developed into a habit of not using the o2 most of the day.

Duh, no wonder my health heads south and my mind clouds over. More denial. Denial does not change the facts. Nor does it serve me in a positive way. So why do I cling to denial like a dryer sheet on a polyester shirt? Do I hear an echo?

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Thanks guys, you are the best.

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Thanks, dude.

Later.