Argh

[pegkerr]

I am absolutely furious with my own body.

For the most part, we get on pretty well. Usually. I'm pretty healthy, and although I'm noticing the effects of aging, I keep myself in rather good shape, if I do say so myself. I never had any serious body-acceptance issues. I managed to get pregnant pretty much when I wanted to do so. I've never had any serious medical problems. And in return, I don't piss my body off very often. I don't make it a habit to go out and get drunk, I eat healthy, I get enough sleep, I'm diligent about exercise.

There is something just base-level survival about being able to breathe, and I am livid that my lungs are not willing to cooperate with something that I need to stay fricking alive. That I usually manage every day without even thinking about it. But for the last four days, I can't breathe without going into paroxysms of coughing that tears at my throat and hurts my ribs and brings me to the verge of vomiting. Hundreds of times an hour. I just want to backhand my own body into next week for being so uncooperative. Which is really stupid when you think about it. I can't get anything accomplished; I can barely think.

Not sure if I'm going in to work tomorrow. If I go, I'm sure as hell not biking. I couldn't even walk down the block to the National Night Out gathering for root beer floats tonight without leaning heavily on Rob's arm.

Just f*cking breathe without choking to death, goddamn you.

Comments

[huladavid.livejournal.com]

Boy, can I understand this. I had a...I dunno, pain spasm, I guess after my surgery, and I clenched up tighter than a frightend clam, and could NOT relax, which only prolonged things. I knew I needed to untense, but I just couldn't until I got some anti-angxiety meds in me. And with all this I could only take shallow breaths. Thankfully I was on oxygen, which helped me mentally. Er, knowing that I had extra oxygen streaming up my nose kept me from being even more anxious.