It's times like these that I sort of wish I had an E cylinder stashed under my desk and could sneak a cannula on without anyone really noticing.
I don't know if I'm just fighting off a little respiratory bug or what, but something's set my system off into a decompensation spiral, and frankly, it bites. My midsection's tight as a drum, all my limbs are aching, my legs feel waterlogged and like somewhat immobile tree trunks, every breath holds discomfort, my arms feel sort of bloated, and my hands feel like they want to crack open.
Add to this my doctor holding back a medication because I haven't seen him in a while and this all comes together to form a nasty, abrupt physical mess.
Now, I only have to pack the other half of my stuff and move it in the next 24 hours, and prep for the flight to New York in another 20… while decompensating…. Okay, yeah. I'm getting a bit frustrated. I need to go home and sleep to ensure maximum health for being able to do what I need and want to do in New York this weekend, but I can't — I have to pack. Yet here I am, struggling to walk down the hall without looking like I'm in some sort of crisis — something I'm not pulling off well, especially given the increasing amount of cyanosis that's occurring today. One of my coworkers gave me a look today and asked me how I was doing. I know that look. She gave me the same look 17 years ago when, as Dean of Student Life, she was making sure that her three-month post-operative student was okay. She's a VP now, but the look was the same. I truly appreciate the concern; it's just that I wish it wasn't so glaringly obvious that it's appropriate.
Ah, well. Breathe as much as I can. Hold the moment, hold the space. Mind over matter. Just get it done. Each day. Each hour. Just get it done.
