Yes, things were breaking bad in New Mexico for me. And they were about to get worse.
We left the Phoenix Earthship in Taos, and drove to Santa Fe to spend the night before heading to the airport in Albuquerque. It was Halloween night, and my son Sean and his wife Melissa had already left for the airport, while the four of us, my bff, and my youngest son Brandon and wife Yating, remained for one more night. The plan was to go out to dinner in Santa Fe, and then get to bed at a decent hour before our airport trip the next morning. There were plenty of restaurants in the area, so we picked one several blocks from our hotel, and headed there together. I lagged behind as we walked toward the restaurant, because once again, my lungs felt odd. It felt a bit the way that I imagined drowning might feel like. I couldn't clear my chest, and it seemed liquid filled. I could barely walk the couple blocks but I wasn't willing to confess to my best friend and family that something was really wrong. For all I knew, it would go away. It was the altitude. It was the cold night air. It was anything but what I was secretly afraid it was. Making up some excuse that the altitude was again bothering me, we did make it to the restaurant eventually. As soon as we were seated, I got back up and headed to the bathroom. There, maybe I could cough and get rid of that terrible feeling of drowning lungs. As soon as I was alone in the ladies room, I grabbed some tissue and attempted to cough and clear my lungs. The tissue was immediately blood red. I kept coughing, and filling tissue after tissue with blood. From my lungs. I was equally terrified, embarrassed, and angry at myself. YOU FINALLY DID IT, DONNA. YOU HAVE CANCER. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO SAY TO YOUR KIDS? It was everything I could do to return to my seat in the restaurant and pretend I was sort of okay. I couldn't eat more than a few bites. And the walk back to the hotel was as difficult as the walk to the restaurant. I continued to hide this discovery from my bff and my family. I was not going to the emergency room so far from home since I wasn't dying...yet. I would go to a doctor when I got home. Somehow, I managed to get through that night, and the next long day of travel, without any more incidents like the one at the restaurant. My first evening at home, I didn't mention it to my husband, either. MAYBE IT HAS GONE AWAY. MAYBE IT WAS JUST A FREAK THING. I even hiked with my dog the next day. But that evening, it happened all over again. I broke down and told my husband the truth, though I refused to go to the ER until the following day. What was the point? I was going for a diagnosis, not a cure. On November 2, I quit smoking. On November 2, I also went to the ER, where at least the issue I was having happened there, too (you know how when you go to the ER you suddenly feel better? I did not feel better, and was still coughing blood). They did a CT scan with contrast, and referred me to a pulmonologist. They hinted at possible cancer. There is a shortage of healthcare workers where we live, so it took two months to get in to see the pulmonologist. When he finally walked into his examining room where I was waiting, he must have seen the terror on my face because the first thing he said to me was, "You can quit worrying. You don't have lung cancer." I wanted to rip off my mask and kiss him, but figured that might be inappropriate. The prognosis wasn't perfect, but it was a lot better than cancer. It was mild to moderate emphysema, and if I continued not to smoke, exercised, and used the medicine he prescribed each day, my life would not be cut short. It's a weird thing when someone tells you that you have emphysema and you feel like celebrating, but that's the truth. I felt like I had dodged a bullet, and in some ways, I did. It's been over a year since I last smoked, and though I likely won't be climbing any mountains, I'm still able to do most things I want to do. The universe gave me one last chance to erase that tombstone, and I finally took it. I guess things didn't break all that bad in New Mexico after all. I am one very lucky lady, and my daughter is happy to at last be wrong.
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AuthorDonna J. Abear is the author of a children's play SPRUCEY, THE BLUE CHRISTMAS TREE, a memoir RELATIVELY CRIMINAL, and a humor book MOM…YOU’RE NOT NAKED, ARE YOU?. Married, mother of four, grandmother of two, and a “dog mom” too, she is living her dream in the Pacific Northwest among the trees and wildlife she loves. Archives
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