In August 2007, while athletes worldwide prepared for the 2008 Olympics, I was engaged in a little personal competition at the City of Hope.
In order to qualify for the Auto Stem Cell Transplant, I had to prove, among other things, that my lungs were in good shape. So off I went for pulmonary testing. The technician clamped a clothes pin on my nose so that I was forced to breathe through my mouth. Then I got to curl my lips around a hose and follow a breathing obstacle course. ("Now inhale. Now blow out all the air. Keep going.") The results are calibrated and analyzed by computer so that the patient receives immediate feedback.
Last year, I was the pulmonary equivalent of Michael Phelps, going for gold in all eight breathing events.
Yesterday, I took the test again. I had to drop out of one of the breathing events because it was too exhausting. And I didn't make the team in any other category. My lungs suck.
But not to worry. My favorite Olympic stories star the "comeback kid," and I'm sure to be one of them.
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