Life in a Box

Today as part of my preparation for surgery, it was required that I go for a PFT, or for any of you (like me) who have no idea what that is, a Pulmonary Function Test.

Now please be reminded that dear Tumor is depressing half of my right lung, so imagine my apprehension when the doctors instructed me to go in for this test. The first thing that pops into my mind is passing out from lack of breath and being left for dead in a creepy BASEMENT.

While obviously this vision is a bit dramatic, I was still a bit curious as to why the pulmonary division was in the basement of BMC. Well, the second we walked into the sterile, yet semi-dingy white room, it all became clear. Usually hospitals have the overwhelming smell of alcohol, hand sanitizer and the booming sound of silence - this department was certainly the exception.

BREATHE!!!!!!! IN, DEEP DEEP NOW DEEEEEEEP. NOW PUSH IT OUT.... PUSH PUSH PUSH push push push, HARDER!!

Where had we just entered? A birthing suite? I thought I was signed up for a PFT?! Oh no, I indeed was in the right place and there sitting aside a glass box was a breath cheerleader urging, pushing and coaching a patient through the vigorous testing that I was about to experience.

Now I know this is a bit drawn out all for a breathing test, but I had to give you the back story. As you can imagine I played my part in the test to achieve maximum results - complete with panting, pushing and actual exertion! The test was so hard, especially since I had not eaten in 15+ hours. At one point I literally thought my abs were going through a Baptiste yoga class.

Also, as a precursor for the photo below, I'm sure most of you know that I am semi-claustrophobic, so the combination of a peppy breath cheerleader a glass box, hunger pains and exhaustion I was ready to escape!