The Tired Woodchipper

If I look tired, it’s because I’m tired. Still happy as a woodchipper in a wooden woodshop, but tired. It’s been one appointment after another, back-to-back, everyday from 5:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. usually. Then treatments and my one-mile walk. And then the steroids wake me up for much of the night. The soreness has also started to catch up to me, emphasized by the loss of my epidural painkillers.

But heck, I got my last chest tubes and a bunch of other equipment removed! So how could I complain about a little tiredness and sorenessndnx? Okay, I nodded off writing that last bit.

Got myself some purty masks, like the one pictured, because transplant patients don’t have an immune system. This is on purpose, in order to prevent the body from literally attacking the new lungs, as it thinks of them as being these huge, pulsating alien invaders. If the immune system is allowed to attack, the lungs enter a state of “rejection,” which is fatal. Yes, much more fatal than the rejection I faced when I asked a girl out in fourth grade and she merely told me I was “blushing red as a strawberry” before walking off.

Infection and rejection: the two biggest threats. Sick? Please don’t get near me. I love you, but please, ew, get away. I will (sorta) happily wear masks in crowded, unsanitary places for the rest of my life. And carry lots of hand sanitizer, preferably some that smells like cinnamon rolls.

Why am I talking about venturing into the outside world? Because I’m about to! Discharge from these lovely accommodations is planned for tomorrow. We will be staying in the area, in the very dope Haight-Ashbury (excuse the pun) to be exact, for six weeks before returning home to San Jose. I’m pretty excited—it’ll be like a quick vacation before heading home (albeit one with various doctor appointments almost every day of the week).

Look forward to many food pics! You know I can’t resist, especially not when I have an appetite (steroids are good for that).