I had a sad day today.
I cried reading Good Housekeeping.
I couldn't hold it together. My friend called, asked how I was, and I burst out crying.
My O2 sat was 90 percent sitting yesterday.
That's getting too close for comfort. 89 percent on room air puts me on o2 all the time.
My shortness of breath is worsening, and none of the tests I thought my doc was ordering got ordered...... Since june.
I met with my NP Anna yesterday, luckily, bc doc was on my shitlist.
Of course, like any good nurse, she took good care of me.
She even got the thyroid panel I asked for in june after my TSH came back high and low and behold my throid isn't working. Probably part of the reason I have no energy and can't shake me steroid weight, but what do I know?
I'm scared for those patients less knowledgable with less balls than me. I'm sure they don't live as long.
I do hope we all understand that this "chronic cancer" is just a euphemism for terminal without a miracle (keep those prayers coming).
But then he called all jolly trying to track me down everywhere to tell me the PET scan I had looked "really really good."
I'm glad he didn't get ahold of me bc I wouldve kicked that good mood into next tuesday.
I'm still shopping for a f...ing wheelchair and thinking of ways I can still get around with an oxygen tank. But it did lift my mood, just a little, even though the message didn't come with a "yay, now you can stop."
It was a "hey, maybe we could lower the dose."