I've had a great mix of taking things easy with living life to the full again. Some days I chill with my puss cat in the garden or on the sofa, indulging in wonderfully crap TV, eating ice lollies. Other times i'm whizzing out, seeing friends - I went to the ballet one afternoon on a whim - and cycling round the parks and quite streets near by. I've actually been cycling a lot, my run of low lung functions whilst I was in the Brompton spurred me into this crazy 'get fit' routine, and now I feel bad if I dont go for a cycle everyday. I don't, but nearly! I also joined a gym. I know right. I'll let that soak in, for god knows i'm still soaking it in. Again, it's things like this that lead me to believe the surgeons did in-fact tamper with my brain. That suspicion just grows everytime I embark on another ludicrous notion such as this gym malarky.
So there I am, about 3 times a week, puffing away on the cross trainer, or looking like a sexy wet beetroot on the treadmill. Sometimes I despair that i'm the sort of person who goes to a gym. The worst bit is, I cycle to the gym, just to cycle going nowhere in a stuffy grey room (listening to Robin bloody Thicke on the tele) for half an hour, then cycle home. Anyway, all this stupidness is paying off, because at clinic on Monday my lung function was 50% and 74%. My best ever is 60% and 80%. Woohoo! My FVC is only 6% down from best ever! Chuffed OR WHAT. I'm also over the moon my steroids have finally stopped, so maybe the face I once knew can now emerge from the bloated mass that's currently residing on my head. Of course, everyone says it's fine, but c'mon. I know what my face should look like. My weight has also rocketed up to 47.2kg (I gained a kilo in 10 days!), so the shudderingly fragile limbs that I once rocked are slowly becoming slightly more normal looking! It feels great.
It's not all fantastic - despite my awesome weight my appetite is utterly dismal, i'm incredibly tight, I have these weird waves of nausea that no-one can work out what the cause is, crazy headaches, and the initial whoosh of feeling incredibly perky seems to have lulled somewhat and I find i'm gradually waking later and later. At Addenbrookes today, they said they want to do a liver biopsy as my liver levels are slightly raised, and have been for a few weeks. I hope whatever is annoying little Liv II can be easily fixed. I also have a hernia operation planned, though I asked if it's possible without a general just a local anaesthetic, as I dont want another lung collapsing! It is, but he's pleased i'm a "brave lady". I said, "Gimme oxygen and 3 pillows and it's all gravy." We'll see how tough I really am eh! (HOLY SHIT)
I've also been forming plans about what I want to do - as it seems you have to get a job to be a respectable lady these days. Ladies of leisure are on the wane. I think I want to go into advertising, so i've tentatively been hunting for paid internships, though of course getting distracted by cats, and Home and Away. And the internet. And clinic appointments. And sputum. And Big Brother. There's maybe an opportunity to do a paid internship at a Law firm too, so i'll have a think. To be honest i'm in no rush, as i've only been out 6 weeks, and obviously things are still a little fragile. I'm also beginning to realise these so-called 'proper' things dont allow for watching Aussie soaps as a matter of urgency, which is taking a bit of time to get my head around.
It's just refreshing knowing that I can think about these things, and as long as nasty chesty bugs hold off and liver biopsy results allow for an easy solution (pray to the science god), there's not much to stop me. POW. Here's some sexy not so sexy shnaps:
|A 'chillin with cat bum' selfie|
|A 'drinking cocktails' selfie|
|A 'making the most of a Cambridge clinic visit' selfie|