Sikki rode with me from her workplace to the follow-up appointment with the pulmonologist this morning. The doctor said my lungs sound a little less clogged, but attributed it to the high doses of Prednisone I’m taking rather than to actual recovery. (I didn’t tell her that I took a brisk walk last night for the first time in six weeks, which may have played a part in opening them up, too.) Prednisone and inactivity are causing weight gain, which is why I’m now counting calories and defying orders by getting some light exercise.
The doctor says I have combination allergic asthma/moderate COPD. My lungs should be functioning around 80%, but they are only at 64%. This is comparable to a lifelong smoker who is 50 years of age — unusual for a 40-year-old who’s never smoked. But she says there is hope that this blockage can be reversed. Going forward she agrees with the allergist in recommending therapy with Xolair injections. I told her about the nature of my job and she suggested I might need to start looking for different work, as being in and out of cold environments is not good for me.
There is time to figure things out. It looks like a moment of transition, a turning page, a fade to black to enable new potentials in the fade to white. I don’t know whether I’m entering the purgation of the Dark Night of the Soul, or coming out of it. Either way, we walk by faith and not by sight.