It's 3 am and I can't sleep.
As I approach the 2 week mark on this admission and prepare for discharge on Monday, my system is super saturated. It's pumped full of steroids, bronchodilators, anti biotics and god knows what else. But the biggest question, the one that it all comes down to. Do I feel better?

Now that takes a little more thought. I have started coughing again. Who knew I would miss coughing. Coughing means the crap in my lungs is actually coming out. Which in turn will allow oxygen back in. But the flip side and there is always a flip side, is that my muscles are once again complaining from the coughing. This will settle and I know that, but that dosnt stop it from being tiring.

The other side is that a mix of nebulised steroids and the wonderous prednisone is having fun playing with my heart. Slowly my blood pressure and pulse are heading skywards. My resting pulse today was 122 when it should be about 80. Considering I am already on 2 lots of meds to keep my heart slow, these numbers arnt great. From past experience my pulse can get to 130 before we have to head back to more tests. Of course there is also the whole cusshings stuff to watch for. Been there done that, that was so 2010. But let's just say, the sooner the steroids stop the better. Lets just hope my breathing dosnt decide to go with them though.

The start of this admission was a bit of a mess but I met say, the rest has been really calm. The staff on this ward are getting to know me now. They know my history and they know what my future looks like. But it's more than that. Perhaps 4 th time is a charm, but conversation comes easy now. Everyone shouts hello on the way past, they remember my name and they do little things for me. Silly things like not waking me up for pointless tests of a morning or to ask if I want breakfast. They automatically know my dinner order and they trust me sorting my own meds. One of the HCAs today had made millionaire shortbread for the staff but he stopped by to give me a piece on his way past. When people come in to do things like blood pressure they sit on the spare chair in my room. It's nice that they are comfortable enough to do that.

It probobaly sounds odd. I can't explain it. But it's nice in a way. The personal touch. Of course it is extra support and even the doctors seem to be getting to know me better. Next week will prove a test though, bent home and fully in charge of my own care once again.

That's the thing with hospital. I am only expected to be active for a few hours a day and that suits me perfectly. But that dosnt fit with real life. Nor does it fit with my mind set. Once again my mind rolls around the question of what is the point. The meaning of life so to speak. I want desperately to be useful in someway. But I can bearly keep myself going how I can I help others. I put it off. Things will be easier when I am better. But let's be truthful, is that ever going to happen? The longer my throat plays up the more damage is done to my heart and lungs. For my condition lung transplant would be a subject that would eventually, if the need was there, be bought up. But in truth, I don't have the strength to go through that. I admire people waiting for lungs. They work bloody hard. Between treatments, physio and very strict and hard medication regimes. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't even consider it.

But alas, it's late and I am rambling. Hopefully the pain meds are kicking in enough now to make me sleep a little. Or at least rest for 3 hours in time to wake for my next iv.

Oh and my long line is still going, though I have to keep my arm straight and it is starting to heal over but yay for no more bruises.