Uh, Excuse Me
I don't want to jinx myself, but I'm feeling better. The third antibiotic seems to be taking care of the pneumonia and pleurisy. I just hope it's enough. But I will conquer this damn thing. I've been through so much with this. It's like, "This will only take about a minute and cost about $1,000." And then I still wasn't "cured."
I've been invaded through almost every orifice, had things cut out of me, and taken about 15 different medications. All for naught. But I do feel better today. I think things started turning around over the weekend. I will get better—I am better.
I'm getting my energy back up to get to the gym, too. And I'm going to a spinning class tomorrow. I will get better. I am going to the gym four days this week—not "going to try to make it" but "I am going to the gym four days this week."
OK. So I brought a bottle of bathroom cleaner to the gym this morning and sprayed the shower out before I used it. I'm not going to get sick again. For the first time ever, in all of the times I've used gym showers, I felt clean when I was finished. Over the top? I don't think so. I've had pneumonia and pleurisy for almost a year. Not gonna do it again.
I saved the best for last: during this morning's workout with a trainer present mind you, while in mid sit up, I farted. While I know this happens to everybody, it's nonetheless mortifying when it does happen. I said, "Excuse me." What else could I say? She was perfectly cool about it and said, "Oh you're fine." And then went on. I on the other hand was ready to die. And just as it happened, my piano teacher's husband walked by. It's the sit ups I'm telling you. The damn sit ups.
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