After all this time!

Well, here we go again. Every winter since 2002, I’ve been contracting some evil breath-stealing, snot-producing bug that slams my ass to the floor harder than Triple H in a title match. I’ve talked about over, and over, and over again.

Before I go any further, don’t get the wrong idea. I don't get my ass slammed, I never have had my ass slammed, and I hate “professional wrestling.” I just used the name for the cultural reference. If I had said Olympic gold medalist Rulon Gardner, would you have understood the reference? Yeah, I didn’t think so either… hence the lowbrow direction I took.

Anyhow… instead of waiting until this annual virus wrapped it’s cold black hands completely around my lungs and squeezes nearly every bit of oxygen from me then going to the ER, I went to see a doctor. Alright, I was cajoled and badgered into seeing a doctor. It seems the fuckers at The Company don’t really care about me, they just don’t want to do my job for five or more days while I’m convalescing in the hospital. How touching.

I went to the doctor last week, and he did the standard weight, height, temperature, blood pressure, ears, nose, throat thing like all doctors do… then asked what’s wrong. “Duuh, I’m sick.” I told him that the first cold of the season hits me like a Rosie O’Donnell fell on my head from the Skydeck of the Sears Tower. He broke out his stethoscope and asked me to take several deep breaths as he listened to my back. Is it me, or do they keep those things in liquid nitrogen before they’re needed? Jesus fuck, that thing’s as cold as a brass toilet seat in the Yukon!

Sure enough, my lungs were crackling like a California wildfire, and a pot-smoking Iron Maiden headbanger with an ’82 Volkswagen Rabbit that fell of its jack onto his chest could inhale more air than I could. Goddamn. What a long way to go for a joke that wasn’t that funny. My writing skills are rusty.

So, the doctor fired up the nebulizer and gave me a healthy dose of the same old medicine I’m used to — Albuterol. After hittin’ that mist for five or so minutes, I was breathing much better. I was as jittery as a meth-addicted chihuahua after a quadruple-shot latté, but I could breathe. Again the icy cold stethoscope was on my back and I was being asked to take deep breaths. The doctor said I sounded much better, then told me the news…

He says I have asthma.

Asthma. Can you believe that shit? I’ve been going to that ER in Coupeville for five years, and they only ever treated the symptoms. Never once did they even think I might have asthma. I questioned it. I asked the doc why I only had problems in the winter. He told me that asthma can be triggered by cold weather, or the common cold. Color me astonished! When I questioned why the ER never diagnosed asthma, he said that by the time I went to the ER, the symptoms of influenza were bad enough and there was enough lung butter (not his words) in my chest that a correct diagnosis was nearly impossible. Maybe I should have made those follow-up appointments with my doctor after the ER visits, huh?

I was sent home with a prescription for ProAir HFA (Albuterol sulfate, a picture of which is seen above), instructions to keep treating my cold with over-the-counter medications, and an appointment for chest x-rays at the hospital. Two days later, I went and had my close-up with the x-ray tech. I was in and out within an hour, but had to wait all weekend long for the results. I got a call from the doctor’s office the following week; he said my lungs were “normal.” Whatever normal is, the doc didn’t see anything to be concerned about.

After nearly two weeks, I feel much better. I still get as winded as West Virginia coal miner running the New York City Marathon, but… that might have something to do with my fat ass. I’ll find out more at my followup appointment on November 15.

Previously on Battlestar Galactica, I wrote about The Company moving into a smaller office space at the Active Voice because the Westin landlords needed more space for the evil telcos. Well, I’m here to show you some pictures of my little (and I do mean little) workspace in Seattle… here, here, and here. That’s it. A nice step down from my office in the Westin, eh? I’ve even caught myself peering around the cubicle walls a couple times. Will the similarities ever end?.

Over the “walls” are techs that answer calls, laugh, talk, eat, fart, tap pens, ad nauseam. Behind me at my “seven o’clock” is LDriver and his “I don’t need no stinkin’ headphones” overly loud LiveLeak videos (thankfully not all the time since he’s too fucking busy). Phones ringing all around me… I’m constantly checking to see if my phone is ringing. It’s like I’m watching a tennis game or something — back and forth — monitor to phone, monitor to phone, monitor to phone. I swear it gives me a headache! It’s a good thing I have my Sennheisers to keep out all the noise.

Okay. That’s enough for now. Happy Halloween. More to come in November.

Tags: Asthma, Health, Work