Time might be shorter than you think….

This photo has no relevance to this post, or Millie or Louise Allan, but it’s bloody hilarious and made me smile.

Millie Schmidt posted such a lovely blog, I have to share it with you. Her enthusiasm for a fellow blogger and writer, and now published author, is infectious as you read the post and then the thread of replies.

Louise Allan I have yet to follow, though I’ll make a mental note to go and search for her when I’ve finished typing this and had a warm cup of milk. I should be asleep but I’ve been tossing and turning for nearly two hours while I worry about a strange happening in my lung last night. (If you’re squeamish, I give you full permission to depart now😬).

I ran to catch a train. I ran the short distance of 600-700 yards hard in freezing air having warmed up not one jot. I made the barrier and was breathing heavily, my chest burning with that recognisable feeling you get when you’ve exerted yourself and are starting to regret it, but usually a two minute sit down and a cough or two restores normality.

So I’m sitting on the train and can taste, or smell, blood. Distinct but faint. Two other people in the carriage; calmly reading their papers having walked sensibly to their seat with probably 15 minutes to spare. I ‘manage’ the recovery breathing, expecting the burn to subside, but it doesn’t. The taste/smell/sense remains and I involuntarily start to cough .. to clear what I’m really hoping is not droplets of what you’re now picturing. I don’t have a cold, flu or any other such mucus-inducing problem, so I’m assuming the repeated collection of infuriating liquid at the base of my right lung can only be of the red variety.

I sit still and the train pulls away. I open my newly purchased Women’s Weekly as they publish two short stories most weeks and I was interested to understand what vibe their stories were taking these days (this magazine I had assumed died when my grandmother did, but apparently it’s alive, well and kicking – which was more than I could say for myself right at that point).

The burn was evidently not going anywhere; my rattle breath was almost audible in the carriage had anyone chosen to take their earphones out and listened. My hands shook a little as I located my e-ticket for the conductor (why do they always go and hide amongst the invalid tickets just when you need them – the ticket, not the conductor?).

I send a text to my husband briefly explaining the situation in case I’m ‘gone’ before my due arrival at home later. He rings and talks and I cough. It’s actually very scary.

I read a story about a breakdown recovery driver helping a girl home. Cute story; good morals. No swearing. There’s a second story – but I’m now reading blogs, catching up with others’ prose and poems, efforts and life stories. I do love blogging and I start to pray that I’ll have many more years in which to partake.

“Why not drive straight to A&E and get a chest X-ray?”

“*cough* could do .. I’m thinking about it … I’ve googled blood in lungs (don’t do that btw) *cough* and sometimes we burst blood vessels through exertion. *cough* When the bleeding stops – and it probably feels like niagara when it’s actually a drip – it will heel”. I’m hopeful for this outcome rather than other ‘possible reasons for blood in the lungs’.

I walk to carpark. I can take a slightly deeper breath already. The burn, which I’ve had time to analyse now, is more of a bruised feeling. It will feel inflamed after all, so keeping the breaths at a comfortable size is helping. Start the cold car. Decision time. Don’t want to waste NHS staff time when real emergencies will be going in with limbs hanging off from chainsaw accidents (goodness you’ve got a vivid imagination πŸ™ˆ).drive home, nurturing the fact I can always return to town if it worstens (that’s a horrible word) .. if it gets worse. I arrive home; son and friend say Hi and continue their college related chit chat; I adopt happy outlook and ask husband to listen to my chest with his ear. Probably not scientific but I can hear the rasping in my ears with every breath!

“Hmmm well, it does sound like you’ve had a bad cold. What do you think?”

“I’m going to see how it goes tonight. The coughing has stopped.”

Then we watched that weird Dorian Gray film … thanks for that Ben!

I often find I can’t sleep; that’s another whole blog post in itself – sleep deprivation. But this time we’ve an extra level to what could be called anxiety about not writing words on the WIP.

This romance book is not going to write itself is it? I sit here before you wrapped in only a super king size red fleece, sat listening to the slow tick of the kitchen clock and the hum of the fridge. I must have written about 8000 words in blog posts in the last week – just imagine how those would have progressed Lucy’s journey in Tuscany!

But I do enjoy talking to you lot; you’re all asleep and cosy right now, with your working breathing apparatus…… 😱 …. s**t !! Do you see what I see?!

Going for warm milk …. there’s no rattle this morning, only a hurting when I breath deeply. I promise I’ll get it checked out if it doesn’t improve. You’d miss me wouldn’t you……