As I probably mentioned, my husband and I were diagnosed with COVID 19 immediately upon our return from the UK in early July. So, today was time to get our lungs checked. Were we breathing properly? Were we half-breathing?
We had to blow (as hard as we could) into a machine, for several seconds; that is, exhale. This was not as easy as it sounds. The machine made little noises and tallied up the results after three or four exhales. Oh, we had to do this with our noses pinched by a little contraption, so this was all through our mouth.
I passed the test with flying colours. Unfortunately, my husband did not do as well and is going for a more detailed test; but we won’t panic about it, at all. We will see what comes up.
I think we take breathing for granted. During the COVID era, we did not; we recognised the thin line between breath and non-breath.
My husband is still breathing, in and out, and still with me. And for that, I am grateful.
This little post is in honour, love and memory of Jimi Hendrix, who passed away in London in 1970. I wish he had been with us for longer.
I shared your post also. 🙏
I emailed you a long ass email with prayers sent.