Scary things

Sometimes, scary things are fun. Like rollercoasters.,,

The timber terror in Silverwood- one my favorites!

...And Halloween! Haunted houses, Ghost stories, scary costumes...

Apollo as Captain Hook- Arrrrrrrg!

 Cam as Satan...

Sunshine as... the incredible hulk fairy

And sometimes, scary things aren't so much fun. Like not being able to breathe.

Or finding mysterious growths on your body...

After googling "Quatto" I finally understand why Cam always uses this as a point of reference when he has the baby in the bjorn...

Anyhow, a few weeks ago, I began having episodes where I felt like I couldn't get a deep enough breath. I was sure there was nothing physically wrong with me because I am in denial of the fact that my body is getting old and not capable of all that I like to think it is capable of.

Then, right around the time that Cameron got his vasectomy (Yes- we're done.Yay for male birth control! I may post more about this later) it started to get bad....

I ended up going to the Emergency room where they gave me two nebulizer treatments and a presciption for prednisone and diagnosed me with adult onset asthma. All while poor Cameron took care of three rowdy kids while recovering from his little procedure. Husband of the year!!!!!

Prednisone... wow. It works, but boy does it have some "fun" side effects. Like ravenous hunger, roid rage, insomnia, "fat deposits on stomach and back of neck " (Yes, that is one of the listed side effects), acne, weight gain...

But I could breathe. Mostly. I couldn't run, or walk around too much, or play with my kids... or really do much beyond sitting in bed like a lazy pile of flab while eating constantly thanks to the prednisone side effects, but I could breathe. I began reading what my friend Taylor refers to as "worry porn," googling causes of adult onset asthma, convinced that there had to be some cause. I read about toxic black mold and I called a company about testing for environmental toxins. For a few google-induced panic-attacks, I was convinced I was dying of pulmonary hypertension or pulmonary fibrosis. I set up an air purifier in our house. I took strange supplements.

And then one morning, I woke up and I told Cameron that I thought I had dislocated my nose in my sleep because it felt funny. I asked him if he thought I had punched myself in my sleep. He gave me one of his "You're crazy" looks (I'd been getting lots of those) and said no. Then, while driving the kids around in the car, I popped a stick of gum in my mouth and noticed something strange. There was a giant mass on the roof of my mouth.

At that moment in time, I was pretty sure I was dying. Thankfully I don't have internet access from my phone or I would have been googling things like "mouth cancer." I picked Cameron up from work and drove straight to the Walk-in-clinic. On the drive there, we talked about our life insurance policies. We're dramatic like that.

Anyways... the diagnosis was... drumroll.... a sinus infection. Apparently one bad enough to cause the swelling of my sinus cavities to push my hard palate into my mouth. It was also the likely cause of my asthma. I'm on antibiotics and the lump is slowly getting smaller. We're still trying to figure out exactly what the lump is, and I am hoping to get a sinus x-ray soon... but I'm not dying! There is no toxic mold or mouth cancer! I'm off of my steroids! I can breathe!!!!!

Amidst all of this, I also went to my chiropractor who looked at my x-rays and wants to do an intensive three month treatment to fix some major neck and back problems I have from pregnancy...

I feel old. My back hurts and my body is falling apart. My friends and I get together and talk about our health problems. I fantasize about winning the lotto so I can buy things like Lasik eye surgery, hernia repair, and teeth implants. I won't be too surprised if I start playing Bingo and get a membership to the Eagles club soon.

All of this "scary" stuff reminded me that life is completely out of my control, despite my best attempts to mitigate any potential problems. Sometimes, I get frustrated with myself and my sense of entitlement. How come I only appreciate the good things when I realize I might lose them? How often have I said a prayer thanking God for my awesome ability to breathe when my lungs were feeling great? Zero... FAIL.

So, in an attempt to cultivate some more gratitude-
I am grateful for my health, for a husband who will take care of me and my rambunctious kids when he'd rather be sitting on a bag of frozen peas, for antibiotics and doctos and health insurance, and for friends who listen when I am stressed out.