Everybody Look At My Pants

I haven’t heard back after my fit-to-fly test yesterday. Given I leave Exeter on Monday and fly Tuesday morning they’re cutting it fine to sort me out with oxygen and for me to inform the airline if I do indeed end up needing to take the oxygen with me. I’d like to take this as a good sign – if I need it surely they’d have let me know already, given the urgency of the situation – so I must be fine. I’m not that positive, especially as I’ve been in pain today and got more out of breath on a walk round the neighbourhood than I have done on other days this week.

Then again, yesterday’s test involved depriving me of full strength oxygen for twenty minutes so perhaps I’m feeling more out of sorts as a consequence and it’s a reasonable response to such an experience? I’m so anxious about having lost the ability to confidently determine what is going on with my health that it makes me hyper vigilant and likely to assume every physical sensation is a bad, bad sign.

However, I have made further preparations for my trip hoping that the rituals of getting ready for a vacation in Ohio will prove good joojoo. I’ve made copies of the details of all my travel arrangements: flight times and numbers, coach tickets, hotel, etc. And I’ve done a final round of laundry to make sure I have nice pants to wear while I’m away. That’s pants in the English sense, not the American sense. It’s liable to be so hot I’m expecting to just run around in my underwear.

Like I can run anywhere with my lungs.

I’ve also written a list of the medications I will need to take with me, hoping to avoid a repeat of November’s calamity when I discovered I hadn’t packed the right box of one of my emergency meds. I expect to be checking and rechecking the wash bag they’re being kept in about a hundred times before I leave on Monday. And then another hundred while I’m at the hotel.

Pants.

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This entry was posted in drugs, health, Life, mental health, Transport, travel. Bookmark the permalink.

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