Two years. It doesn’t seem like two years have passed, but then again, there isn’t a day that goes by that I still don’t think about my time spent in New Orleans doing pet rescue after Hurricane Katrina made landfall.
It’s ironic, too, that I just spent almost two hours in a doctors office, specifically a pulmonologist (lung specialist), to get my lungs checked out. I developed mild asthma just before I went to NOLA and now it’s to the point where I can’t breathe deeply without wheezing, nor can I be active like I used to be. Oh, I still go to the gym, and sometimes force myself beyond my limits, but I always end up paying the price with my lungs physically hurting for a day or two.
I’m praying it’s just minor, like perhaps I need to exercise and strengthen my lungs, but deep down I’m afraid it’s worse. What if I really was exposed to toxic mold and other pollutants that were floating around there in the constant dust you could visibly see? I had friends who were over there with me tell me that doctors have found all sorts of nasty stuff in their lungs and that they are permanently damaged. We’ll see, I guess. He’s ordered a set of X-rays and a lung capacity test where I have to run on a treadmill with a tube over my nose and mouth. And that’s just to start. "The basics", he called those tests. Where we go from there depends on what, if anything, he finds in those tests.
No, no, no. I’m fine. I have to be fine. After all, I eat super-freaking healthy, I scarf antioxidant-laden food and teas like crazy, I still do yoga and I can still climb a set of stairs without getting winded. What’s there to be afraid of, right?
