Category: Bronchiectasis

Pussy-Whipped

A transcribed handwritten journal entry from this morning.

I’m mad at Lola, but being mad at her won’t stop her from walking across my pillow when I’ve just gotten back to sleep, much-needed sleep ended prematurely by this furry little bitch. Nor will it stop her dispensing poop on the counter as she licks herself from her latest diarrheic episode, nor will it stop her from sticking her ass over the opening of the litter box so she craps on the floor. It won’t stop me spending $100’s on special diet food and new litter boxes trying to manage this geriatric phase of my cats’ lives, even as I try to manage my bronchiectasis by upping my cleaning and attempts to sanitize everything. I need sleep for health, I need cleanliness for health, I need health. These fucking degenerate degenerating decrepit cats are…killing me? Are they killing me? I want to kill them sometimes. I need my fucking sleep.

I can pray but experience tells me I can only pray for acceptance. I must accept some situations are shit. If it’s not actually shit I can pray for the wisdom to see that, and if there’s anything I can change I can pray for the courage to change it… But I’m not gonna kill my cats. I love them.

Resentment is the flip side of love. Only by loving am I vulnerable enough to be hurt enough to resent. I’m extraordinarily vulnerable; I guess I’m extraordinarily loving. Did I love everyone who cancelled me? I loved the world and trusted people, yes. Did I love (unnamed psycho trans activist)? Not specifically, but a certain base level of trust and love of my fellow human beings was degraded by him. Did I love (relative)? On some primal level, sure, and now any shred of conscious love for him is gone, leaving only the dead weight of obligation.

My poor kitties, though. As much as they hurt me, they are innocent. I can’t lock them out at night because I love them and their cries would devastate me (and keep me up anyway). Poor Lola, who wants only love and closeness to me, and knows nothing of human hygiene, and is incapable of rudimentary reasoning because she is a cat and also may be going senile. She’s incapable of considering my needs or — ha-ha — any boundaries at all, because she is a cat.

But Lola is amply able to love me as only a cat can. She loves me, this I know. It’s a love devoid of human respect or empathy; it’s about pure closeness, primal trust/dependence, and touch. I need these things in my life too. So I’m grateful for my evil fucking cats.

L-R: Momo, Lola, pussy-whipped human
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Illustrating The SSDI Blue Book

Crohn’s Colitis

I just applied for Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI). I don’t expect to get it. Although I have at least 3 qualifying conditions — Crohn’s Disease, Bronchiectasis, and Major Depression (treated) — I haven’t been hospitalized over 48 hours for any of them.

The application process was worthwhile anyway, because it brought me to the SSDI Blue Book. This lists all the ailments that may qualify you for Social Security monies doled out in modest increments prior to retirement age. They are a reminder of the many things that go wrong with the human body: Vision loss. Hearing loss. Amputation. Heart disease. Neurological degeneration.

Amputation

In addition to broad categories like Musculoskeletal Disorders (1.00), Digestive Disorders (5.00), Hematological Disorders (7.00), and so on, the Social Security Administration maintains a list of Compassionate Allowances Conditions. These are almost all fatal, and bypass the often years-long application process for a merely months-long one that may or may not outlast the applicant. Reading it gave me a sense of perspective, as well as discomfort, fear and sadness: Heart Transplant Graft Failure, Lymphoma, ALS, Hydranencephaly, Mixed Dementias, Cancer, Cancer, and more Cancer, all terminal. Kinda makes Crohn’s and bronchiectasis seem less dire.

Mixed Dementia

We’re all gonna get here sooner or later, unless we die suddenly (accident, homicide, etc.). Covid brought me here to Disability Land sooner. It left me with a permanent low fever and ever-expanding autoimmune conditions I never had before. It took away what I thought were another decade or two of active mid-to-latish life. At 57 I am accumulating conditions more common to those in their 70’s or 80’s. Still, I got off easy compared to many. Crohn’s, for example, is often diagnosed in adolescents; I didn’t get it until I was 55. Many disabilities are invisible, and we have no idea what everyone is struggling with.

Plus, my pulmonologist says 57 is Old. So it’s time for me to make some art about being Old:

I’m going to illustrate (parts of) the SSDI Blue Book.
Maybe I’ll make another playing card deck with them: The SSDI Qualifying Impairments Deck.
But to start I’m just illustrating.

If there’s a specific ailment you want me to include, you can commission one here. Be sure to name the condition and let me know it’s for this project. I can also make its sufferer resemble you or another victim of your choice.

Blindness

I have felt a lot better since starting this project, so even if it’s in terrible taste and everyone hates it, I’m doing it anyway.

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Bronchiectasis Mascots

What’s a good shorthand for bronchiectasis sufferers? People with Crohn’s disease are sometimes called Crohnies. I suggest people with bronchiectasis should be referred to as Bronchies. That of course suggests images, so I drew two:

Buckin’ Bronchie full color
Buckin’ Bronchie

Until recently bronchiectasis was classified as a rare disease. The symbol of rare diseases is the zebra.

Bronchiesaurus — or Bronchiectasaurus, Bronchiectasuar, or Bronchiasaur — full color.
Bronchiesaurus

You’re welcome.

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Bronchiectasis

For my 57th birthday I got a diagnosis of Bronchiectasis, a chronic incurable lung condition often associated with Crohn’s disease.

In addition to coughing for the rest of my life and being extremely susceptible to infections, there’s the problem of pronouncing it. The syllabic emphases are like “bronchi-ecstasy,” although it is in fact bronchi-agony.

Bronchi-agony

Or, as my friend Caroline called it, Brontosaurus Ecstasy:

Brontosaurus Ecstasy

A week ago, the day after my birthday, I went to “Convenient Care Plus” because my pinkeye and nosebleeds had returned and my cough never left. They gave me a CT scan which revealed calcification of my airways. I was put on new drugs, and although I am still miserable the pinkeye has gone away and the codeine helps me sleep.

Appointment with pulmonary specialist is in about 2 weeks. I wish it were sooner but that’s what they got.

As I wrote on Xitter:

My job is now being sick, and I’m being sick like it’s my job. I ROCK at this. So many symptoms, so many serious disorders. And I just don’t recover! Shows real commitment. I excel.

I didn’t want to be sick of course. But I got “the call,” and although I resisted, when you’re called you’re called. Being sick is my vocation. I didn’t choose it, it chose me!
I am so good at being sick. I am especially good at hating it. Real passion there.
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