I'm still sick. The cough has pretty much dissipated and I don't feel like I'm having a hard time breathing (although my doctor begs to differ). Friday marks the end of week 4 of this whooping cough. And today marks day 7 off of work in a row for me. You read it correctly, day 7 in a row!
Last Wednesday, I started to get really bad again and my doctor changed up the meds, so I stayed home Thursday and Friday to rest. I was petrified that I was heading straight for the hospital. Saturday, I felt great. Almost had my voice back and I felt I had turned a corner. Sunday, I felt pretty well in the morning too (except for a cough I had at the exact moment I took a huge swig of coffee--let's just say the Mad Scientist ended up sprayed in coffee and I was mortified as the entire restaurant stared at me).
We came home from breakfast and I weeded a little and planted some flower seeds. Then it hit me. I had done way too much, so I took a nap. After the 3 hour nap, my left lung felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly. I had had lung pain throughout this illness, but it had intensified so bad that I couldn't cough or breathe or let the kids hug me without a yelp. At 1:00 am Monday morning, I decided it was too much. I felt for certain I'd be in the hospital (and not uncertain calling 911 wouldn't be an option). I told the Mad Scientist he was not going to work the next day and he had to drive me to the doctor's office or the hospital. It was impossible for me to drive myself.
It turns out, I have pleurisy. The infection in my lungs (presumably whooping cough) has inflamed the membranes of my left lung, causing them to scratch against each other in a most painful way. The goal is to kill this infection finally and prevent any long-term damage to my lung membranes. I am totally feeling like the Dancing Queen these days. I am taking 10 medications at 4 different times of the day (and I am on my fourth type of antibiotic). So far, it seems to be working. My pain has diminished enough that I feel able to drive. I haven't heard any of the scratching of my lung membranes that I had been hearing all of the time for the last couple of weeks. So, that is good. I still have to rest and being in the heat and humidity is really hard on me, but I'm making it.
And all of this makes me wonder again: Could it be me? Could I be the cause of my sweet baby's horrible conditions? Do I have a micro-deletion of chromosome 22q11.2? This illness reminded me that I have the same immune deficiency as DQ. I was born with a heart murmur, but do not have any heart defects. I have the crazy, overlapping toes that she has and so many 22q kids have. I am very short (but so is everyone in my family). I had the crazy ear problems she suffers from. Is it all just a coincidence or something more?
I've played this game in my head so many times. I rationally decided years ago that it just doesn't matter. Even if I have the deletion, I didn't know about it before I was pregnant and there is nothing my diagnosis could do to help DQ. Would it just make her angry to know I did this to her? Or would it give her inspiration to know an adult can thrive? Would it just muddy the waters? Would it finally give me someone/something to blame? Would that do any of us any good? Would she hate me because of it? Would I hate myself?
And so I grapple with the question: Should I finally be tested?