My lungs suck, part two million

[beandelphiki]

Friday (gee, was that yesterday?) I went in to see a respiratory specialist. Fun. We got X-rays done, because I told him that my lung had collapsed again for the third time that morning. I had to get off the bus by the side of the road, because I was sure I was going to puke from the pain. I'm just lucky the next one was only another ten minutes, and I wasn't late for Stage Management.

(Mom told me I should have stayed on the bus and rode to the Foothills hospital. My friends say I should have told the driver to get an ambulance. I didn't do any of that because I thought it would be rude to blow chunks on the bus. That's just me.)


I stood in the bus shelter and had a tiny cry. I haven't cried at all in...HOW friggin' long? Don't ask me. I guess it was just the stress. I don't want to go to class in pain. But I have to go, because missing class is the kiss of death in this program. I don't go, I fail. I fail, I waste four grand. Just blow it right there, baby. And no way I can let that happen. It's just that...it hurts, that's all. Not that much. I didn't even puke. No, I'm not being smart. I know it's not that big a friggin' deal, except for the "it could kill you" part. I'm trying not to whine, I really am. I don't WANT to whine, it's weak. I have nothing to whine about. It's a small problem as long as it's not a big collapse. I'm just tired of the doctor freaking on me for going to school when I don't get a choice about it, I'm tired of the profs acting like I'm going to go skipping off to malinger, I'm tired of it hurting all the time. Gee, why does it hurt to not be able to breathe? You tell me.

Anyway, guess what this specialist told me? That theatre is going to kill me.

Yeah, THEATRE, only the one thing I've been working in/for since I was 12. Fuuuck, I tell you that every time I think I've got a handle on things, they get worse. Ugh.

Basically, he said that I can't work in construction, or paint, or anything that might be too exciting, but I knew that. Too damn bad, I LIKE paint crew. He told me that I need a new mask, because the rubber SWAT-team thing I have now will never fit my fine features. (I so LOVE to hear about my fine features. [/sarcasm]) I can't fly in an airplane. I can't leave the city. I can't lift heavy things... (Yeah, right. Like I'll get a choice.)

And I have to rest 3-4 days EVERY FUCKING TIME my lung collapses, or I will make the condition life-threatening. (I thought it was already?!?!?)

Who the FUCK is he kidding? Who can rest for 3-4 days at a time?!? That's insane. Especially in theatre. I can't rest 3-4 bloody MINUTES, nobody can. We had a time-management woman in to talk to us in Stage Management, and she ended up telling us that...she had no idea how we managed our time, because we have none. She couldn't help us.

Oh, yeah, he says, you can't have a life while your lungs act like this. But I might grow out of it. And if it goes on for too long (6 months) we can try surgery. Which might not work.

So I had a long talk with some profs today about "making a decision" about my life. And what I want to do with a theatre career.

What I want is a different body. One that works properly. Bonus if it's not allergic to everything. And XY this time. Jesus.

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[groovycat.livejournal.com]

-hugs- but there's nothing really i can say..