We left the house at 6 AM. The "waning gibbous moon" had not yet set. (I had to look up what you call a moon that was full two days ago, but now has a tiny nip taken out of it. ) The air was cool and pleasant. We saw only a few people out and about.
We were on our way to the lab for a test I have to get three times a year to see if the powerful medication I take for idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF) is leaving my liver alone. Liver damage is just one of the possible side effects of this miracle drug. Only one other patient was ahead of me. I was in and out in no time.
IPF makes you cough. I am glad I didn't cough in the waiting room or during the blood draw. People would have thought I had Covid for sure and I would have gotten dirty looks, even though I was wearing a mask.
Sunday was my 81st birthday. Our daughters came over and brought dinner, most of which I couldn't eat. My appetite is still a distant memory. "No appetite" is another side effect of my medication. I have become a skeleton. I don't know whether to get clothes that fit (size 4 as opposed to my normal size 8) or to keep on hoping and trying to regain some weight.
I confessed to my daughters that I am guilty of what I call "IPF Kabuki." I frequently act as if I am worse off than I really am, if only to make sure that everyone knows I need to be taken care of. I still have not accepted the fact that I have this disease and that limits have been imposed on my life, against my will. I realize that every person on earth is subject to limits, and that I am hardly alone in this. Still, there is something about chronic illness with a stated life-expectancy of "3-5 years after diagnosis" that dims your hopes.
That said, from what I read on line, I don't seem to be that bad off. I may be wrong, but I suspect I could be doing more. Instead, I have been lolling around, having my kind-hearted spouse bring me this and that and do more than his share around the house. Meanwhile, I have stopped doing all of the things that are supposed to be helpful in my situation. No exercise for over a month. Not pushing myself to eat more. Not doing any breathing exercises. I am pouting, I guess. I am just so angry and so unaccepting of what has happened to me. I need to grow up.