I had every intention of going to sleep early tonight...

I'm exhausted but my mind is racing. About a week ago I decided to go without my portable oxygen while I went to therapy. I got cocky after that and went the whole day without. Going from 15 liters (per minute) of oxygen, to 5L, to 3L, to 2L, to none within about a week was just too much for my poor body. I've been sleeping and resting and gasping for breath all week. My heart is pounding more easily. My head swims in some pool of jello most of the time. Writing is the last thing I feel like I can do.

There's also wicked good music on the radio (wgdr.org) right now. I miss doing my radio show so much.

I'm still losing weight... it appears to mostly be edema from the emboli and after-effects.

I dug into some old poetry the other day. I feel inspired in my head. I feel like a sloth in my body.

I'm going to tell Colleen that I want to do respiratory physical therapy. This is big. I could just stumble along in a "I don't really deserve to feel well" kind of defeatist bullshit haze like I've been known to do for much of my life. But I've been near death recently. I want my life to mean more than I sometimes think it does. The first things I need to do in order to achieve this is heal. Part of that healing is psychological. So I need to heal my frightened self, my wounded heart and lungs, and I need to learn how to get stronger. But healing first. Healing. Must heal.

I do deserve to feel well. I deserve to be off oxygen and not ache constantly and breathe without coughing. I deserve the energy to think without getting dizzy. I deserve as much health as my body will give me. I'm worth working for.

Okay. Now I must try to sleep.