Fat. Old. Useless.

I know. It's not very flattering, is it? But that's how I feel about myself these days. I have no job to go to. No one is expecting me. I miss my work mates like crazy. And I'm still fat. Not as fat as I was, mind you. I've lost about 14 lbs. But I still feel overweight. I'm weak, too. I feel tired, and lazy. And just ... old. Colleen is young and fit and beautiful. Sometimes I really wonder what she sees in me. I'm so blessed to have her in my Life. Ivy too. I know I'm getting weaker because I often wish Colleen and Ivy wouldn't walk so fast. They're only walking at a normal speed, but it seems fast to me. Everything I do happens more slowly these days. Items I lift seem heavier.

Twice a week, I attend a respiratory rehab centre to lift weights and use other exercise machines. I feel like the healthiest person there, as most of the participants are on portable oxygen. The physiotherapists are all young women, fit and pretty. I must say I enjoy the scenery there. My goal is to increase my level of fitness and continue to lose weight in order to present myself as the best possible candidate for lung transplant. They tell me I'm nowhere near the point of transplant yet, but by starting early, I hope to gain an advantage over those who simply allow their health to deteriorate.


Last month, I had a lung biopsy. It was simple enough. General anaesthetic. Poke a hole in my side, and snip off some lung tissue. I was home the next day. Two days later, we left for a 3600 km car ride into northwestern Ontario. I was absolutely fine. Hardly took any pain medication at all. And I healed quickly.

I did another pulmonary function test yesterday after my exercise class. I told the technician I'm fine, except that I feel as though I'm only using about 3/4 of my lung capacity. It feels like I ought to be able to draw more air into my lungs. She said I was accurate and that I was indeed using only 74% of my maximum. That's a decline of 10% in the last three months. I haven't mentioned that to Colleen. She worries about these things. A lot.

On Friday I'm to see the lung specialist at the respiratory clinic at Toronto General Hospital. I understand it's Dr. Moric, the handsome fellow with the bulging biceps. He'll interpret the findings of the biopsy, review the results of this latest PFT, and discuss with us our next options. I guess he'll either confirm or deny the dreaded IPF diagnosis. I'm not feeling particularly optimistic.


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