Lungs in Crisis

Day 1 – April 21, 2003: It was the day after Easter and it began the same as every Monday does when you earn your paycheck chained to a desk just another drone in the orbit of planet bureaucracy. Rather than a starship of some kind my transportation was provided by the local transit system, which is the only way to travel if you are commuting to downtown Los Angeles. Rather than spend two hours each morning locked in a piece of barely moving tin on Interstate 10, I would nap for 45 minutes while the bus cruised at 65 mph in the specially designated bus lanes.
 
On this particular morning as I exited my bus in the historical heart of downtown Los Angeles I noticed a bit of scratchiness in my throat. No big deal I thought most probably it was caused by a bit of irritation from the exhaust emitted by the many busses spitting out passengers on the corner of Temple and Main.
 
My assumption concerning the cause of my bronchial irritation proved to be incorrect. My throat grew rawer by the moment and I developed a cough and slight fever. By the time my day drew to a close I was exhibiting all of the symptoms of a soon to be bad cold.
 
Day 2 – April 22, 2003: I woke up feeling quite a bit worse than I had the previous evening. I called the office and informed the chain of command that I would be on the DL for at least a few days. Now it was time to pull out the old rolodex and call my doctor to see exactly what trouble my body had gotten itself into this time. After a thorough exam my doctor's diagnoses was a rather bad case of bronchitis. This came as no surprise as I had suffered from bronchitis several times in the past. She gave me a prescription for some antibiotics and some cough syrup and told me to come back in a week. She also wrote a note to my boss excusing me from work until April 30th.
 
Day 9 – April 29, 2003: One week on the antibiotics and I have shown no improvement what so ever. If anything the congestion in my chest is worse I am beginning to sound like the little engine that could chugging up the steep hill. Except I was walking slowly on level ground. Another examination by my doctor showed that my bronchial tubes were still inflamed and a round of steroids would probably help reduce the swollen tissue.
 
 Only one problem, steroids and I do not play well together. Besides my current health issues, I also suffer from Panic Disorder. Steroids, at least in my case love to mess with my central nervous system, which usually results in multiple panic attacks. Needless to say my doctor and I were both leery about introducing any type of steroid into the mix but it appeared to be somewhat of a necessity, at least if I wanted to improve my breathing skills. Which seemed to be a good idea at the time. In order to leave me with a bit of sanity we went with an inhaler rather than the pill form of steroids.
 
Day 17 – May 7, 2003: I finished the steroids and the antibiotics with no noticeable improvement. On the other hand I am sure that residents of the Artic Circle were feeling the after effects of my week on steroids. By day six on steroids the only thing keeping me sane was my treasured Xanex prescription. I was so happy to have my Xanex that I was considering writing to Pope John Paul II and nominating its creator for sainthood. I am sure that those who had to put up with me would have seconded the nomination without question. I returned to my home away from home better known as my doctor's office so she could tell me what I already knew. There was still no improvement.  So begins the development of plan B, chest x-rays, blood work and a more powerful antibiotic. With my body in rebellion and no sign of the siege letting up anytime soon my doctor decided to play it safe and leave me off of work until June 2.
 
Day 18 – May 8, 2003: I spent the morning at the local hospital swimming upstream against the amount of paperwork required by the insurance company for a simple chest x-ray. Three hours later I was finally able to actually enter the x-ray waiting room where I was privileged enough to wait another hour before actually being x-rayed. On the other hand the blood work at a separate facility took all of ten minutes including blood drawing and form processing. Go figure.
 
Day 24 – May 14, 2003: My body remains in rebellion, I have a constant dry, unproductive cough that would have been fired by now for its lack of production. I have no more fever but I still feel less than my formal self. A sure sign that you have been sick to long is when the receptionist greets you by name before you have even signed in. Another round of poking and prodding and it appears that nothing has changed. Bronchial tubes inflame: check. Chronic cough: check. Shortness of breath: check. My blood work showed a slight elevation in the white blood cells, which is to be expected. The chest x-ray was normal so at least initially we can rule out pneumonia and tumors. Stumped my doctor decides it is time to bring in one of those mysterious specialists in this case the dreaded pulmonologist. Also, since she has experience in navigating the rocky waters of insurance referrals she wisely extends my disability to June 23.
 
Day 31 – May 21, 2003: I received my referral from the insurance company giving me their blessing and graciously allowing me to visit the pulmonologist of their choice. Of course calling his office required another lesson in patience. I am beginning to believe that insurance companies are God's modern day equivalent of the trials and tribulations of Job. God is just testing our faith in the system. When I was actually able to get through to the office of the pulmonologist I was informed that they were booked through the 11th of June. I begged, I pleaded, I whined and I even asked for some addresses of those ahead of me on the schedule so I could attempt some form of bribery. It was all to no avail though she sympathized with me she was unable to move me up on the appointment list. O' well you cannot blame a guy for trying.
 
Thus ends part one of Lungs in Crisis.