It was snowing hard this morning and I was thrilled to bits...fat flakes settling everywhere. If the roads are bad...which they always are when it's snowing or a sharp frost, I wouldn't be able to go for that hateful breathing test on'd all gone by mid-morning and the sun came out.
But I cheered myself up just a little 'cos I've decided to point blank refuse to go on the treadmill...and if that awful woman...the lung nurse...who is extremely fearsome and mighty bossy, is in any way as patronising as she was on the ward, I shall use my very best voice, the one I keep especially for such occasions, and dig my heels in and say 'Shan't...and you can't make me!'
Trouble is, any stressful situation has my breathing worse than usual...and she causes me stress by the bucketful when all she's doing is standing there...with her arms folded and a scowl on her face.
I read yesterday that Leonard Nimroy has COPD...he looked to be a poor old soul altogether...but he is eighty-two...and he gave up smoking over thirty years ago. There are days when I think I'll be feckin lucky to last the year out...never mind reach my early eighties.
And shutting me in a little box without any proper oxygen or forcing me onto a feckin treadmill is a sure fire way of me expiring sooner rather than later...and I shall tell her so.