It’s not easy to accept this disease for what it is, a destroyer; causing so much pain, both physical and emotional. Even so, as I share this from my journal, just remember that I’m a proper bitch! This is just a glimpse into what’s been going on. Besides, now, a fortnight later, I have regained some control over my life thanks to diligent doctors and excellent healthcare. I might even go climbing next week.
Friday the 18th of November 2022
The morning started quite well. I felt alright – not brilliant, but not terrible either. Physio cleared my lungs pretty well. Around lunch, I attended a meeting with Murre, one of the candidates for the Centre Party’s upcoming leadership election. After we finished, I headed straight to the climbing gym, feeling rather sparky. Though, that feeling would soon prove fleeting.
Walking down the hallway towards the reception, I felt the ominous and all-too-familiar bubbly sensation in my left lung – a harbinger of haemoptysis. True to form, my mouth filled with blood. I hurried to the loo, hoping to go unnoticed. The next cough forced its way up before I reached the sink, and well, gore ended up on the floor. Lovely!
I kept hacking for a while – don’t know for how long, but long enough to get frightened. When the bleed finally seemed to settle, I cleaned up the floor, the sink, and myself as best I could. Needless to say, the sparky feeling had completely vanished. Anyway, the floor has this non-slip texture, making it impossible to wipe clean with just tissue – and, of course, the bog roll ran out. I had no choice but to ask for help.
I absolutely loathe having to ask for help.
S, one of the gym owners, mopped the floor and made me a cup of tea. I coughed some more – managing to keep it to the sink this time. It ended up being quite a significant amount of blood in the end (big bleeds are traumatic, and I doubt I was able to hide it). He asked if I needed to go to the hospital – I said no.
I was already mortified having someone clean up after me or even just seeing my mess. I wasn’t willing to admit to needing more help. Foolish and downright dangerous – lung bleeds are terrifying and sometimes deadly. They can become so severe that you can’t clear your lungs fast enough to avoid drowning in your own blood – a wonderful mental image. There’s nothing you can do in that moment to make it stop, other than hoping it’s not your time to die. Calling the hospital is sensible, which I did in the end. I’m sure I’ll be on the mend soon, but I’m gutted and so done pretending to be strong.
Now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to show my face at the gym comfortably again. I worry they’ll think differently of me. Look at me differently. Be frightened of me. I’m a bloody walking time bomb!
