Been so busy. Last week I was at Balloon Manor in Rochester, NY, (helping build a 5-story balloon sculpture) working full time, everything has been a whirlwind.
I’ve been having problems with swollen, painful legs, and last night I started gurgling/wheezing when I exhaled. It was so bad, I decided to sleep in my barcalounger. Our bedroom is downstairs, living room upstairs. After walking up the stairs last night, it took me 5-10 minutes to catch my breath.
Needless to say, we went to the hopspital to get things checked out. After a blood test, ekg, heart monitor, chest x-ray, and leg ultrasound, I can tell you I am ok. So that’s good.
One of the questions they ask at the hospital is about smoking. My answer is no, I don’t smoke. I could say I never smoked, which would be true if we were talking about a habit, I have never regularly smoked. But, in truth, I have had some cigarettes. Maybe 10 in my lifetime? I may have had more, but don’t remember because of the drinking. But I always feel like I need to give full disclosure: “No, I don’t smoke. Well, I may have had 5 cigarettes in my lifetime.” Like they care. Like it matters. But seriously, I spend way too much time angsting about it.
(Notice I also reduce the number by half. That’s because I am sure I had at least 5 cigarettes. And I want them to think I’m a good person.)
