The Planet Hoth is In My Lungs

I had a scary ER visit last week where they suspected I had walking pneumonia or a gallbladder problem of some kind. They tested me and because I am miraculously always okay, nothing was found.

The past few days I’ve done nothing but lay in bed.

At first I thought it was because I had to help my fiancé put a king size mattress on our bed frame – wherein my nails were all ripped off and I proceeded to shout at him when he asked if I could do anything at all, I thought things were going well teamwork wise until that point – and even though we purchased a luxury hybrid Casper I felt like I was sleeping on glass that first night.

I had a doctors appointment wherein I went over the mattress duel and my nurse said I needed to make sure my man did not do that to me again; he needed to call in some man force and get a friend to help. I should not be doing that.

Anyhoo, after the bed made it into the bed placement zone on Wednesday I have been broken physically. Before the bed made it here I began suffering from costocondritis, or inflammation of the chest wall, and do not wear bras anymore. Not even when the in-laws come. Or when I go to Jesus’ house. I think Jesus is more okay with it than the in-laws but people get lots of things confused with Jesus.

Two days ago, about the time the mattress fiasco killed me, my costocondritis worsened and I began breathing like a flat nosed dog in July. It felt like the flu.

Oh no.

Last December at exactly this time, the week of my fiancé’s Christmas party, I came down with the flu, and I had it for 3 weeks.

I’m getting married in less than two.

Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, we’ll have ourselves a wedding. Or maybe it will be postponed, held in a hospital room, I don’t know.

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