Fentimans Rose Lemonade

Yesterday, I attended my very last session of pulmonary rehab.

I started pulmonary rehab on June 25, 2021 to address longterm effects of COVID-19, which I’d had in March and April of 2020. I’d previously spent more than a year trying various medications, and “gradually increasing my activity” to absolutely no avail. So, after a slew of tests to determine what was going on, and some tests to determine that it would be safe for me to participate in the program, I started going to pulmonary rehab 2x/week, as well as doing exercises, practicing my breathing techniques, using my incentive spirometer at home, and also continuing to try to increase my activity.

One of my goals when I started was to fly home to visit my dad, who was battling cancer. I wanted to go later that summer, but was given a hard, “No” on that, as the increase in altitude would be hard on my lungs, and they were already struggling. So, we set a new goal for a Winter visit, and started working hard to meet it. We did. It was a great visit, and well-worth all the hard work, and I wish we could have stayed 3 times as long. I also wish it would have meant I had “graduated” from pulmonary rehab, because, frankly, it’s a lot of work; but, as far as I can tell, there’s no point at which one graduates.

At my last visit, I had to do sort of exit interview/exam. There was another walk test, to measure my progress (we’ve done a number of them along the way), an interview, with questions about whether or not the program had met my expectations, and finally, an anonymous survey; but also, I was told it was important to continue doing all of the exercises and techniques I had learned in the program. This isn’t “the end,” exactly, this is just, kind of the next step.

I was honest about the fact that I don’t think I had very realistic expectations going in. I think, perhaps, we all go in to any kind of illness/injury recovery hoping to come out “all better,” back at 100%. I learned fairly quickly that a good bit of this program would be about finding my limitations, and learning to adjust to and live within them. Next, comes learning how to push myself -carefully, safely- so that I might make gains that will help move me back toward my pre-COVID levels of functioning. In other words, I wanted to get back to hiking, biking, – before I was sick, we’d been talking about buying a paddleboard, or maybe a kayak – but first, I had to get back to being able to walk in the backyard, and do the laundry without getting winded and completely worn out. Which is totally boring, and frustrating, but also essential; and, if you can’t walk across the backyard, you can’t very well hike.

So, it wasn’t the program that needed to be adjusted, it was my expectations.

I remember the first day I went to actually do any work there (as opposed to just meet/learn about the program). They put me on a stationary bike. I started coughing and choking, my eyes were watering. I was determined to do it, because I thought, “Look – THIS is the only way you’re going to get any better. You’ve got to do this.” But I couldn’t. I cried. In front of a roomful of people. I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t do it. And I honestly thought, “How is this going to work? How am I going to get any better here, if I can’t do the exercises?”

There were days when I thought I was getting nowhere. Weeks of practicing standing up and sitting down, while breathing. Walking up and down the hall while picking up things, and then putting them back down. Walking up and down steps. All while remembering to breathe correctly. Which sounds like it should be easy, but trust me, it’s not, and you need someone teaching you how to do it if your lungs are a mess, and especially if no one has ever taught you how – or maybe even if they have, and you just need refresher course, a reminder to slow down, pace yourself, do it the right way.

The respiratory therapist kept assuring me I was making progress, even when I couldn’t see it. I often could not. I could see that I could stay longer on the treadmill, or the other machines. I could tell that my speed increased. When the weights I could tolerate increased, that was a tangible difference, but still, always, I would feel exhausted, short of breath. Somehow, the other changes, didn’t seem so significant to me. Looking back, now, I realize they were. Even in the moment, I think I understood. I just…you know, I was still hoping for a “quick fix,” and I think it’s going to be a long, slow crawl.

On my first attempt, over a year ago, we had to cut short the walk test at 4 mins, because I was having chest pain, and difficulty breathing. Yesterday, I was able to complete the full 6 mins. On the first day, I traveled 400 feet in those 4 mins. Yesterday, I traveled 1,000 feet in 6 mins. I was very out of breath, and my pulse ox dropped, but came back up, so maybe I could have done a better job of pacing myself (still working on remembering/practicing all of those lessons I learned), but I did it: 1,000 feet in 6 minutes.
It’s a measurable gain.

I’ve learned a lot, and I have tools to take forward with me. I have (little, tiny) muscles that I can see, and I will keep working on getting stronger, and healthier. I think I feel ready to turn the page, and start the next chapter, whatever it might be.

I decided to celebrate my last day of pulmonary rehab with a glass of Fentimans Rose Lemonade.

Here’s to my future, and to yours, wherever they lead us. To joy. To light. To progress. To our health.