Post script

Well you know I had a bad infection right? Thank you for all the concern and the well wishes and messages etc. My mum and dad were pretty freaked out because every time I talked to them, I would go into a massive coughing fit and then wheeze my way through our conversation. After about 3 weeks of suffering, I called my dad in a panic and said I needed help. I turned to my roots. To the mysticism of the East. My dad called my Auntie and she concocted a potion that can only be described as magic. He duly dropped it off that very same evening and said to take it twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. I took it that night and could instantly feel my air ways clear and I slept that type of deep sleep that adults dream about. What was this magic potion you ask. Well, its called Raab and it’s an old Indian (I want to say Gujarati, but I genuinely don’t know) recipe of millet flour and spices blended together into a warm drink. You think it sounds nasty and you’re right. It sounds nasty, but to me it tasted like magic and love. Love of my parents and my Auntie Kate who lovingly made this potion for me because I wasn’t feeling well. From that evening, I started to feel better and more positive. I still don’t know why I was inflicted with this stupid infection. Some friends came round (socially distanced and all within the allowed rules of course) and I just couldn’t keep a conversation going for more than 25 seconds because I would just start coughing and wheezing like a maniac and the husband said I needed a chest x ray because I just sounded bad. Another friend told me her husband had the same thing as me and did permanent damage to his lungs. It’s been a number of weeks now and even though I feel better, I still can’t breathe right. Exercise is a long lost dream. I look at my Peloton and feel sadness. I see Chump on the Peloton everyday and going for runs and envy just takes me over. It’s an ugly emotion, but I can’t help it. I go for a walk and within 2 minutes I’m huffing and puffing. I come home and take my inhaler, absolutely defeated, wondering when it’s going to be my turn again. Oh god, look I know I sound completely insane. Like there are real problems in the world. I know there are, I’m not that self absorbed. I know that in parts of the world, 400,000 people are day are being diagnosed with Covid, and there are oxygen shortages and thousands are dying awful deaths. And I pray for all of them. I lament the state of the world. But I would be lying if I said I also didn’t feel sorry for myself.

Today, I set myself a goal. I’m going to get on the Peloton and I’m not going to huff and puff. I chose a 30 minute class and the first 10 minutes were like a beautiful dream. My legs worked, my mind worked, my lungs worked. After 11 minutes, my lungs were screaming for air. And I just couldn’t get enough air in. My mind stopped working and started panicking. And I think everyone knows, if your mind tells you you can’t do something, there is no way your body is going to defy that. Your mind controls everything. I finished the workout, because I’m a stubborn, stupid person, but I hated the last 19 minutes of it. I got off the bike and couldn’t get enough air in. I took my inhaler and now I’m just sitting here, wondering what the hell is happening to me. My tae kwon do studio opens again in 2 weeks. I need to be ready to go back. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I can do the school run on Tuesday morning without collapsing on the side of the road. Ok, I’m being dramatic. But I’m defeated right now. And it sucks.