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...tho' it felt a little touch-and-go for a while there, last evening.

Well, no, I exaggerate: but for a couple of hours it was very much shall-I-go-to-hospital? Point being, there's a hospital two minutes' walk from here, with both a walk-in treatment centre and an A&E; they're going to close it to build a giant Tesco's, but at the moment it's still working, so it seems a shame to waste it while it's there. And there's this thing that happens with my asthma these days, where I wheeze and wheeze and take my meds and wheeze and wheeze and it's like the meds can't touch it, and there are two things I can do: I can panic, and go to the hospital and get serious steroids and stuff; or I can sit it out, and it usually goes away. No, it always goes away. So far. Eventually.

The first is easier one way (meds! fuss! y'know, all of that being-taken-care-of stuff), and the second is easier in other ways (staying home, not making a fuss, not spending hours or overnight in hospital). Thus far, I guess I've always picked the right one. As I did last night. I was on the inhaler every ten minutes for an hour, hour and a half, something like that; and cautiously, fractionally, it went away.

Today I am fragile and exhausted, but no worse than that. And working, kinda (better than yesterday!), though I think I might quit about now. I think I've had done enough.

Tomorrow, Birmingham. Sunday, Oxford and Henley. Home on Tuesday. I can has days off nao?

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Date: 2007-09-14 08:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] desperance.livejournal.com
Temptress. Alas, I was born too late; nobody gets sent abroad for their health any more...

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