DEAR LISA | JENLISA

SIX

JENNIE

Eight months left

June 5
***

Dear Dad,

A lot has happened since the last time I wrote.

When Lisa and I came back from the Caribbean in March, and just after Octavia was born in April, I got pneumonia again. I don’t know how. Everyone cleans everything these days, Lisa and I still swab down everything with good old Clorox wipes. Nevertheless, two days after we got back, I had a fever and chills. My O2 sat was crap, so we called Dr. Bennett, and she said to head for the hospital.

I had to be intubated. That is no fun, Father. I hate it, because I’m sedated, you know? It steals time. Plus it worries Lisa and Jisoo and everyone else. I lost four days, but we beat the pneumonia, at least.

I’m on Ofev, which is one of the only medicines that seems to slow IPF down. I’ve been eating organic food only for two years, and I take those Chinese herbs and exercise, and still, Dr. Bennett said my lung function tests were “lower than we’d like,” which sounded ominous. Also, I’ve lost weight, courtesy of a side effect of the meds . . . diarrhea like Old Testament wrath, Dad. Not that you want to hear this, but who else can I tell? Dr. Bennett added another medication, which stopped the weight loss, but it makes me a little dizzy. The steroid inhalers make it a little easier to breathe, but also give me insomnia.

And every time I lose a little lung function, it’s gone forever. IPF is a greedy bastard.

Prip, who is the world’s best mother-in-law, got me a Himalayan salt lamp, which is supposed to help with breathing. Let no stone go unturned, right? She’s also big on the healing wonders of Vicks VapoRub, which, let’s be honest, is a miracle drug. I love the smell. She said to rub it on my feet at night. Mrs. Han agreed, so it must work, because she had four kids and is a nurse, and therefore knows everything.

Sometimes, I have to sleep in the recliner, because being flat isn’t great for me, but I hate to be away from Lisa. She (of course) found a special wedge pillow so I could be more comfortable in bed.

 I love her, Dad. She is everything a wife should be. Protective, funny, kind, thoughtful, gorgeous (not necessary but it does NOT hurt that she has cheekbones like a Nordic god and a smile that curls up in the corners and makes my ovaries ache. Sorry, sorry, TMI, I know that). But I want you to know how she is. That I couldn’t be in better hands or with a better person.

Work is great. I started designing the interior of the children’s library wing, and what could be more fun than that? Everyone at work is so nice; Santino and Louise and I go for slow walks at lunch, and Bruce is incredibly flexible with my hours. Oh, you’ll love this—Lori Cantore, the only mean girl of the firm, asked Bruce for my office “down the line.” Second time she’s asked! Can you believe that? I said, “I’m right here, Lori. Still alive, sorry to tell you.” Bruce sent her home for the day and told her to cut the shit or find another job. Best boss ever! Still, I hate her. Before I got sick, I’d try to look for some redeeming qualities, but now, forget it. She’s a bitch, and she deserves nothing from me. I may have taken one of her Diet Coke cans and dribbled the remains on the floor by her desk the other night. You can never really clean that kind of stickiness.