My moments and  conundrums, living with chronic illness

Kathleen Anderson portrait

I think the worst thing about any chronic disease is the unpredictability of the attacks. Never knowing when it will raise its nasty head means never being able to plan, to be able to commit. Still, I attempt to do both.

Fit as a fiddle one day, down for the count the next… only the next will now be counted in weeks, not days. So, you learn to come to terms with “I will do what I can, when I can, and leave it at that.”

In my case, COPD, breathing is the issue. At best, it is ok. I am up, I am out and cramming in everything I can before the next flair-up comes. Moderation has never been my strong point. But then I know there is no cure for COPD.

At its worst, it is shortness of breath and rib-racking coughing fits. If I talk too much, I cough. Still, I talk. If I laugh, I cough. Still, I laugh.

I am surrounded by a caring family. I am incredibly lucky and I know it. I am incredibly grateful and hope they know it. I wonder, a great deal about why I am so lucky? Why do so many go without while I have so much? God knows I can be downright cranky during these episodes.

Still, they come and ask if I need or want anything. They take me to the doctor or ED and sit for hours while I am in line to be seen. They pick up my medications and anything else I ask for.

I have a pulmonary doctor who rushes into the room and gives me a hug before she does anything else. I am sure she hugs everyone but when I try to thank her for everything she does, she just points to the heavens and says “thank Him.”

Of all the doctors in Thurston County, why did I get this particular one? I do thank Him for her. She exudes joy, confidence, and positivity.

All these people in my life have issues, both health and otherwise, to deal with. We all support each other in whatever way we can. Sometimes we just have to laugh. Once in a while, we hug and shed some tears, but never for long.

Last weekend was my granddaughter’s birthday. The house, like most weekends, was filled with good food, loud noise, romping dogs, little people seeking hidden chocolate treats and lots of chatter and laughter.

At one point, I looked out my bedroom window and saw my daughter and her husband roaming through the yard picking up dog poop and I was struck by how no birthday celebrations, health traumas, or apparently anything else, could stop this ritual. Rib racking coughing fit, caused by laughter, promptly ensued.

Bedtime at our house follows another ritual. I don’t know exactly how it started but it reminds me of the old Walton’s show, where everyone said goodnight. Only at our house and it goes like this:

Dana – ok, Mom we’re going to bed.  See you in the morning.

Me – Ok, I’ll be here

Joe – The house is all locked up, Granny, Thanks for making the coffee.

Me – You are welcome, Joe.

Nikki – Good night, Momma. I love you.

Me. Love you too.

Every night, I swear to God.

Today, the sun is in and out. Occasional healing rays stream through my window bringing a sense of peace with it. I looked down at some pressure on my leg and spot two eyes and a white muzzle looking up at me. I am eating my lunch at my desk and Bella Rose, the smartest dog in my world, has wedged herself in-between the desk and my leg in hopes of a dropped morsel coming her way.

That face prompts laughter, followed by a rib-wracking coughing fit.

 And it is worth every moment of it.

Kathleen Anderson writes this column each week from her home in Olympia. Contact her at  kathleen@theJOLTnews.com or post your comment below.