Breathing, or trying to…
About two and a half years ago I was finally diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension. I say finally because it wasn’t an easy diagnosis to get in all ways.
First there was denial of a problem and compensating. I was working full-time and if there was an event at night I would leave work early. That let me relax a little. I didn’t notice it as real fatigue yet. Then weekend errands were left more and more to my husband. I could handle two or three stops max. More than that and I was done. This was probably six or seven years ago.
Then the shortness of breath started. Just walking around our office grabbing files was too much. So I planned my route around offices with chairs. I got in trouble for chatting too much!
My doc gave me breathing treatments which helped some.
Finally in July of 2008 I had a really bad attack, I couldn’t walk down the hall without nearly blacking out. After 3 days of no improvement I went to the hospital. They said it was an asthma attack, but being asthmatic I knew they were wrong. They put me on high doses of steroids that made my diabetes spiral out of control, but wouldn’t give me nearly enough insulin so I left. I got sent home on oxygen but without a diagnosis!