Because This Breathing Thing Is Harder Than It Looks....

This has been a really tough winter for us.  First, the Husbandly One brought home the flu for Christmas.  We were extraordinarily lucky that neither of the kids got it, but he got the H1N1 version... and I got the other one.  For once, our kids took care of us, and wasn't that a switch??

While the Husbandly One was initially much sicker, getting a dangerously high fever one night, high enough that I was ready to drag his stubborn hide to the emergency room, he recovered much quicker than I have.  We both took Tamiflu to reduce our symptoms, and the kids took it as a preventative, and we got through it.

But the flu hung on to me a little longer.  And when it finally left, we discovered it left friends.

Say hello to Mr. Secondary Infection.  Oh, and Mr. Bronchitis.  And let's not forget Mr. Lingering Cough!

But, I did start feeling better.  And I was kind of getting back into the groove when what is known here in Central Texas as Cedar Season hit... early.  And this year?  It was a doozy.  Think... CEDARPOCALYPSE.

Yeah.  That bad.

Guess who's allergic to cedar pollen in this house.  Well... all of us, actually.

But guess who it knocked completely flat?

Yeah.  Me.

The Impertinent Daughter got a sinus infection.  The Husbandly One got a sinus infection.  The Impossible Son hovered on the edge of a sinus infection, but seemed to avoid it.  Barely.

Me?  Well, I have asthma.  Asthma that has been remarkably quiet in the four or so years since I started taking Dexilant for gastric reflux.  I haven't had to take asthma medications in all that time.  Except the rare use of my rescue inhaler because of nearby grass fires, etc.  It's been wonderful!  It was like having my life back!

Until cedar season hit and all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe any more.  And the next thing I know, I'm back on Advair, I'm back on the nebulizer, I'm back to using my inhaler every four hours, and shaking like a leaf all the time.

Finally, the Husbandly One whisked us all away to Rockport for the weekend to see if it would help.  And it did.  I was finally able to draw in a deep breath for the first time in two and a half months, and we were all better for the clearer air.

It made coming back home a real bummer though.

And... I was back at the doctor's again today, because... now I'm coughing up yellow stuff, and for someone with asthma... that is a very bad sign.  So... now I'm on a antibiotic because the doctor informed me, as have many over the last few weeks, "You are absolutely not allowed to get pneumonia!"  Which would just be the total capper to the season, right?

*sigh*

The thing is, the very frustrating thing is, after you've gotten your life back, and you're used to doing things again, like getting out and doing stuff with your family, and going places, and just... being outside without worrying it's going to set you off or make you miserable... you kind of get to liking it and wanting to do it as much as possible.

And when you can't... it's very discouraging.  I have things I want to do.  My son will be starting his track season next week.  I would really, really like to go to his meets without worrying that I'll either have an asthma attack, make myself sicker, or have to go home after an hour because I'm too tired to stay awake.  Not to mention how crap-tastic that would be for the Impossible Son, because he wants his mom there.  He wants his mom cheering for him, taking ridiculous photos of him, and just being his best cheerleader ever.  Not curled up in bed at home.

My doctor, and my sister, who is a nurse and more than familiar with me, and with allergies and asthma in general, have pointed out that this was a huge shock to my system and I've got to give it time to... recalibrate.

My family needs me, and I need them.

Can you tell I'm frustrated?  Because I am.

I won't let this beat me.  But... it's very frustrating, inconvenient, and... did I mention frustrating?

Just breathe.  Just breathe.  Just breathe....

Existential Writer's Crisis --- AVERTED!!!

In order to work on my writing while the kids go to Animanga Club, I keep my writing files on little USB flash drives. And usually, I back them up on my desktop at home.

Usually. When I remember, that is.

Haven't been doing that so faithfully lately, though, and I nearly paid for it. While getting ready to leave for the library today, I did my usual check of the stuff in the laptop bag, taking some stuff out, adding some stuff in... the usual. I also checked to make sure the USB's I'd be using were in their place and... one was missing.

At first, I wasn't too worried. After all, I was pretty sure I'd taken it out to make some notes on the story I'd been working on so... it was probably on my desk. Except... it wasn't. Nor was it in my purse, or on the counter, or in my pockets, or in the car, or in any of the innumerable places it could be. The kids hadn't seen it, the Husbandly One hadn't moved it... and all I could think was, "Oh... crap, I lost it at the library!!!"

My heart sank. I hadn't had a chance to back it up. I'd gotten sidetracked by one of my little distractions and forgotten about it, and then gone to the library and... that meant I didn't have anything current on the story at home, and I didn't have enough of it in my head to reconstruct it, even though I did have some of my notes...

Yeah, it was pretty devastating. And I was trying not to lose it, trying to stay focused on, "Okay, gotta get the kids to the library, and I can ask if they found a USB key... or if someone turned one in...so..."

And I tried very hard not to imagine taking my horrible, sad, pathetic excuse of a novel to a publisher and selling it and making a smashing success of it, and me with no proof it wasn't MINE... except for two notebooks and three files worth of notes and work on it.

Yes, I can be an overdramatic tit, what's your point?

The kids did their best to cheer me up, confident I had just misplaced it, and I tried my best to be philosophical about it, since weeping, wailing, tearing one's clothes, and beating one's breast is sort of hazardous while driving, not to mention upsetting to the children. Plus the whole wearing sack cloth and ashes just plain embarrasses the hell out of them, and while I don't mind embarrassing my kids, I tend to like to do it to a purpose, you know?

So, when we got to the library, the kids turned in their books and rushed to the room where their club meeting was at, barely remembering to wave at me and look properly sympathetic (in fact, they failed horribly at the looking sympathetic part) as they abandoned left me. I was left to walk up to the help desk and ask if anyone had turned in a black usb flash drive.

The librarian found one that was very much like mine BUT... it had initials etched into it that weren't mine. She encouraged me to go ahead and look at it and check, just in case. So, I found a table with a handy plug and pulled out my laptop. Noticing that someone (stares accusingly at the Impossible Son) left crumbs on the keyboard, I dug into the pocket where I keep a microfiber cloth and out of the black fabric tumbled... my missing USB key!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Yes, yes, I was very happy and just managed not to do a whooping victory jig. While amusing, I am sure it would have been frowned on. After all, I am in the library!

Therefore, there will be no wailing, weeping, and beating of chests, nor shall there be sack cloth and ashes, nor yet the inconsolable Jo dripping tears everywhere as she contemplates the ruin of her life while the Husbandly One plies her with enough chocolate to put an entire platoon of female Marines into comas...

I did mention the overdramatic thing, right?

So, crisis averted, and all is well in Jo-Land. Yay! Now... if I can just finish the damn thing, right? Right.

So,