Are Breathing Problems Age Related?
It's discouraging when the solution to my problem seems far off.
I've had one test after another, and the results are always consistent with someone 91 years of age. So all the doctors tell me I'm normal. Really?
I saw a pulmonologist twice, and after she made the first "normal" diagnosis, I knew her second diagnosis would be the same. Some doctors are too busy to revise their first impressions. I'm seeing a different pulmonologist in October, and maybe I'll get some help.
Lucky for me, everything above my eyebrows seems to be working. Every morning, I take stock of my body. I'm not out of breath when lying down or sitting, but once on my feet, breathlessness returns.
However, it can't be normal to be out of breath to shower, make my bed, or walk from my bed to my bathroom (about 12 steps.) Of course, doctors don't know how it feels, and while I like them very much, not one is anywhere near as old as I am. So, how can they understand that my breathing condition is ruining my life?
I've tried various prescription medications, but none seem to alleviate my problem. I'm considering giving up my daily scotch to see if abstinence will remove my breathing issues. I love my one drink daily as it enlivens my life, so I'm desperate, even considering this radical move. On the other hand, I must consider my life, in general, and if I want to give up anything that makes me feel good.
Living in NYC, there is so much to do and see, and I must consider if my body can keep up with my intentions. Such as, I intend to go to a museum. I live on the Upper East Side and within walking distance of "The Museum Mile." If I walk to the Museum, will I have enough strength left to walk around and look at the exhibits once I get there? I need to stop and rest about every block and a half. This is not fun!
Recently, a friend and I met for lunch and planned to visit MOMA (the Museum of Modern Art) to see the Georgia O'Keefe exhibit. I took the bus to Fifth Avenue. I live on Second Ave., and the avenue blocks are very long. Then I took the Fifth Ave. bus south to 55th Street and had to walk to Sixth Ave to get to the restaurant to meet my friend. I felt the block from Fifth to Sixth Ave. would never end. And it was hot and humid.
MOMA is halfway back to Fifth, with an entrance on 54th Street close to the restaurant. It turned out that the guard didn't want to let us in because the main entrance was on 53rd. But, finally, being 91 and unable to breathe, the guard relented, and we were admitted. I doubt that my friend will be eager for a repeat performance of my panting and resting. It wasn't very comfortable, and I was embarrassed.
Rather than taking stock of what my body can't do, I noticed what it can do. I can walk, talk, make jokes, and laugh at them. I can grocery shop and cook. I can unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher. I can step into the bathtub to take a shower, step out, and dry myself. Then I can get dressed. I'll be grateful for my energy next time it comes around.
You may have noticed that I last posted new blogs a few weeks ago. I have devoted myself to revising my unpublished stories to send to a new publisher. But I'll be back. So, stay tuned.