Day #3: The Fork

Stripped, back to the basics. Shaking hands, walking the same pace, rhythm, breath.

Here I am again. The last time I remember crying in my doctor’s office is when I was 14 years old, maybe 15. Different reasons, same everything.

My pulmonary function scores (PFTs) went down again. Just staring, not typing.

I am faced with a fork; IV antibiotics for 2 weeks, PICC line, 2-3 days in hospital minimum, IV at home company, insurance, money. Then short term disability, loss of earned time at work, forms, HR, talking about this, admitting.

Fork two: taking at least 3 weeks off from my second job, consistent and strong exercise, therapies 3x/day when not working, yoga, mental endurance, rest, believing, determination, so much more. My current of life.

If Fork number 2 doesn’t pan out at the end of 3 and half to 4 weeks, Fork number 1 is a must.

Miniature breakdowns keep happening. But an undercurrent of blasted stubbornness and confidence excede.

I am me. Fuck.