I include the following because it might be medically related - a side effect.

I never dream at night - or I guess I don't remember them because I'm told we all dream. With incredible clarity, I remember the dream I had last night. It was most unusual.

I dreamt I was dating Bill Gates.

Good God. What the hell is wrong with me?

Bill Gates!

Why not Peter Falk, Pablo Neruda, Frank McCourt, Bon Jovi - or so many others my heart slobbers for?

My dream was a bit remiss in the passion department, but it included a party that Bill and I attended. I remember sitting on tall stools at a tall cafe-like table. My friends eagerly engaged in conversation with me, but ignored my date... Bill Gates. He was too ordinary, quiet, easy to ignore. In my dream I can so very, very clearly remember I was equally amused and dismayed that my friends were so shallow that they ignored the brilliant man at the table because he was too ordinary.

All I just wrote is a true report of my dream.

What the heck is wrong with me!

*laughing*

Actually, sometimes I really and truly love myself. I love that I had that dream. I think it says a lot about who I am. I'll let you determine your own interpretation.







*****



Nothing about my days is average per what I think an average day should be.

Edit: My average days are perfectly average. It's the appendages, accoutrements, wildcards that complicate my days.

I had three days this week when I had incredible difficulty with my breathing. By all appearances, the two concentrators looked like they were correctly connected, and initially, I felt I was getting the proper flow of O2. After gasping and stumbling quite a bit, I took an inventory of all connections and discovered that one of the tubes was off its connection by maybe 1/16 of an inch. For three days I was trying to navigate my life with only half the oxygen I require. Good grief. The moment the proper flow of 12LO2 commenced, I felt better. The thing is - this type of error is not discernible by eye. I need to be the judge of whether or not the flow is correct. In the future, if something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't and I need to be more proactive with problem solving, more inquisitive.

I've also gone through a quiet period. I've been vulnerable to sadness. I don't like it one bit. I'm more apt to grab hold of humor and laughter than dwell on anything sad.

This morning I realized I haven't been taking an important med for several days. I take a low dose of a *happy* pill to ease anxiety. My routine is to break a pill in half and add it to my weekly pill thingy. For some reason I'd forgotten to do this. And wouldn't you know - the moment I let my guard down, Mr. Crummy Sad sashayed into my life.

Today is going to be a good day because it already is.


*****


I wrote those words about a week ago. I'm behind.

Since that post, I've inched to 16LO2... and it's not enough. Dang. My oxygen vendor will be bringing another concentrator to connect to the two I already have. *sigh*

Fatigue has been my enemy these weeks. I get silly tired silly fast. It's not about wanting to sleep - it's about fatigue. It's easy to assume that the fatigue is symptomatic of my IPF. When one has a serious illness even a tiny tic is perceived as something symptomatic.

I spoke with someone at Vanderbilt's Pulmonary Clinic the other day and she observed that it could be the Pirfenidone that's causing my fatigue - that she's had patients take themselves off the Pirfenidone because they became so tired.

Um. I'm not going to be doing that. Pirfenidone is my best chance at extra innings - an extension. Hospice permits Pirfenidone because it doesn't cure - it curbs the pace of the scarring of my lungs.

The person I spoke to (in pulmonary research) even suggested that I cut back my dosage of 9 Pirfenidone pills each day to 6. Um, that isn't going to happen either. I can live with fatigue... I can't without Pirfenidone. I want to continue with the highest dose possible. From a research point of view I understand the eagerness to see if I would perk up if the dosage was lessened. But, trust me you, I'm waaaaay past having concern for pulmonary research.

It's all about me now. Seriously.

Just knowing that the cause for fatigue might be explained by my meds - well, that perked me right up!


*****

By the way, I suspect that Bon Jovi would've been the only person my friends would've acknowledged. Can't really blame them too much.

Oh, and regarding the romance part of the dream - I never kiss and tell.

Love.