In January I had another sleep study to study the dental appliance we bought last year to cure me of my mild sleep apnea. It cost a house payment and a half, and no, it was not covered by insurance.
My sleep study indicates that not only is it doing no good, I'm actually a little worse. They did not turn on my oxygen during the study to see how low my oxygen would actually go, and it went to 67%. So, I get another sleep study in April, and probably do the C-PAP thing. Ugh.
I lost my friend Anne Caesar in February. Anne was a PH patient with scleroderma, a physician, had a wicked sense of humor, was Greek to the core of her bones, and I miss her awfully. Remember Bruce, her husband, as you will. He was her caretaker and her enabler for the last few years, they were necessarily inseparable, and he is having to find a new way.
Now, I'm going to say something, and those who have ears should hear.
Life is short.
There is some need, in some folks, to complicate their lives. To invent crises, or persecutions, or to simply waste the lives they have enjoying their maladies, celebrating their sickness, creating a career of victimhood. They invent complication, and drama, and make public demonstrations of their righteousness, and how they have been wronged.
I reject this.
I deal with my disease, and I try to help others deal with theirs. It is not my focus (despite what this blog may look like), and I refuse to enable this in others.
It reminds me, not attractively, of middle-class women, sitting in their Laura Ashley living rooms, declaring their solidarity with the oppressed masses due to their own oppression by male hegemony.
Utter bullshit.
Sorry, gang, but when you decide to play your games in public, making dramatic entrances and exits announcing your victimhood and oppression, I have only a couple of words for you.
Grow up.
