A Long Time Coming

Hello faithful followers and viewers ~ It's been forever and for that I am sorry, not only to you but also to myself.  Over the years I've both gained and lost a lot, by not blogging and living up to my full potential I feel that I lost a bit of my mental health and suffered from serious depression.  I'm trying to get better and stop feeling sorry for myself and start to sort through all of the fucking bullshit and believe me, there is a lot.

For starters as most of you probably already know I had yet another lung transplant.  I'm now going to write through my feelings from the beginning of the end, as this the year of 2017 has been by far the most difficult of my life, only secondary to 1991, July 25th to be exact.

I had been sick for a while and in denial for the better part of my sickness.  It began on Father's Day of 2016 when my husband Tommy and I were putting together a trampoline for our foster son, DJ.  We just finished putting it together and I decided to have some fun and jump up and down on it, as soon as I started a horrifyingly old enemy came slowly sinking back; I was short of breath.  I thought nothing of it at first (here starts the denial) and had a seat.  After a few minutes the feeling diminished but never did quite go away, at this point I had my new 'superior bad ass' lungs for nearly three and a half years.  Little did I know that one of my worse nightmares was about to become a harsh reality.

Over the next few months the shortness of breath just got worse and worse, eventually I was bed bound and could not even get up and go to the bathroom without having a near panic attack, my lungs screamed for air that they were just too weak to inhale, I lost a lot of weight and nothing fit me, I spent many nights sleepless because of the simple fact that I was afraid I would not wake up, I was put on home oxygen again. I tried my best to be a good mother and wife to my boys, who I adored more than life itself but it was no use, my life had once again come to a screeching halt and for some reason this time around was much worse than the first, I felt death's embrace around me constantly, he sat in the corner of my bedroom.  I exuded a positive attitude on the outside but on the inside I was dying, alone and afraid.

'Heaven isn't too far away, closer to it everyday' - Warrant

The holidays had come and gone and I was not able to get into the spirit - I faked it the best I could for both of my boys and I tried to be grateful to be home and most of all, alive.  I hated all of the pictures taken of my skeletal self with that stupid ass oxygen hose hanging from my pale gray face.  It was now the beginning of January of this year 2017 and I had a doctor appointment at the University of Pennsylvania, by now I had been on the transplant list, once again, since October.  My cousin Sandy had recently moved from Florida to Pennsylvania only about thirty minutes from my house and she had agreed to take me to my appointment, at this point I was unable to drive myself anywhere.  She arrived at my house early to help me get dressed and ready.  (Sidebar - I also had not been able to bathe myself in months, more people than I care to admit had seen me naked and washed me.)  I attempted to lift my body off of the couch and I couldn't do it, keep in mind I weighed about 80-85 pounds, at the height of my health after my first transplant I was all the way up to 140 pounds.  Exasperated I started crying and the past 7 months hit me like the literal ton of bricks people reference.  At that moment in time I knew I was dying, not even dying, I knew I was going to die without a shadow of a doubt.  The Grim Reaper who had lived in the corner of my room and on my shoulder for months was now right in front of me, staring me in the face, I saw death, I felt it, I was in it.  My breath became less and less, I could barely speak, it was so terrifying it was almost peaceful. If I let it take me my struggles would be over, no more gasping for breath, no more throwing up everything I tried to eat, no more sympathetic looks, no more being chained to a bed, no more feeling like a horrible piece of shit for not being able to be a wife and most of all, a good mother.  The daily tears and hardships would be no more, I would no longer inhabit this diseased body I occupied, I would be free.  I would see so many I had lost; dear godmother Jean, both grandfathers, my grandma who was one of my best friends and confidants and my loving and sorely missed father; I was ready, I was ready, I was so close to the end I could feel it, I felt the peace wash over my body.  Take me now.  As quickly as the peaceful feeling came over me an even stronger, more urgent one took its place, the fighting spirit that I thought I had lost.  I snapped back to my breathless reality and told Sandy to please call 911, I was ready for the fight of my life to continue.  She called 911 and we waited...