Written by: LaVerne Wilson
One of the ways I cope with my IPF is by making fun of myself and my quirks. I posted this on my Facebook page today, and have decided to share it here. Maybe somebody will find a smile or chuckle in it...
A year ago I had a heart valve replaced.
But there was another big problem I faced,
When I got on a treadmill to take a walk
I found that didn't have enough air to talk.
We got to a doctor, his name was Chisti,
The sign on his door said “Pulmonary”.
He looked me all over to give diagnosis,
And came back with a bad word: “ Fibrosis”.
That came as a shock of course, but as I looked down
On his worksheet, my face sure showed a frown.
'Cause on that paper, a line I could see
That said my “Complaint” was – “SOB.”
Now, I don't use words like that; I surely know
That that epithet means something quite low.
I knew my mom well, and it sure doesn't fit
Her sweet personality, spirit, and wit.
Yet it stared right up at me, I couldn't deny
What it said on that paper. But why, oh why
Would that nice doctor deign to call me
That nasty ol' term of an SOB?
Now when I can't do something I used to do,
Or when I'm breathless after tying a shoe,
Or when my oxygen tube hangs up on a chair,
Or when I look at my now-thinning hair,
Or when I am finding that I must ask
For someone's help for a simple li'l task
I think I can grasp why that doc might call me
That obnoxious phrase of SOB.
But all's well that ends well, for as we thought out
What we saw that that paper was talking about.
It wasn't a cuss word but instead a contraction
of my lung's insufficient breathing reaction.
We laughed as we saw that the cause of complaint
Wasn't what we thought, for cussing it ain't.
As a symptom of lung disease we now clearly see--
“Shortness of Breath” truncates to “ S.O.B.”
**Thank You, LaVerne, for allowing me to share this wonderful tongue and cheek poem. I know when I first heard someone within the Pulmonary Fibrosis community refer to SOB, I thought they had a potty-mouth ;) Now, I know better! ~Breathing