Friday, February 6, 2026 – Day 532

Friday, February 6, 2026

Good morning, everyone.

Super Bowl Squares Pool • Pool #1 — sold out
• Pool #2 — sold out Photos of the numbers will be on tomorrow’s blog. We raised $2,000 for ALS United.
Thank you. Truly.
Now I just need to wipe the tears from my eyes so I can keep typing.

Yesterday was clinic day. We had arranged for a driver and a van that could accommodate my power chair—something new and something I was actually looking forward to. But about 30 minutes before pickup, we had to cancel.

Earlier in the week, my pulmonologist prescribed Nystatin. The severe dry mouth from the ventilator may have led to a fungal infection called thrush. It usually shows up as a white tongue (I have) along with other painful symptoms—which, thankfully, I don’t have. But we’re treating it proactively.

The medication is a liquid: 5 ml. You swish it around your mouth and spit it out. No swallowing is required.

In theory.

In reality, any liquid in my mouth is a choking risk. And what’s not supposed to happen… happened. I took the medicine first thing in the morning. While swishing, some of the liquid slipped down the back of my throat. I spit it all out immediately, but not before it locked up my airway and triggered those loud, forceful gulps my body uses to try to clear things. It’s never pretty to watch. And there’s nothing anyone can do in that moment except wait while I fight through it.

I got through the episode and felt okay—until about an hour later. A burning sensation settled in my throat and triggered a cough. It started mildly, then turned into a full-blown coughing attack. I’m not even sure there was anything there anymore, but my cough reflex was convinced there was—and it wasn’t going to quit.

That went on for over two hours and completely drained me. I managed to get the blog written, get dressed, and we were still planning to go to the clinic. Then Cindy looked at me and asked,
“Do you want to cancel?” I tried to say yes, but the word wouldn’t come out, my voice was done. So I nodded.

The relief I felt in that moment was overwhelming.

I parked my wheelchair near the fireplace, reclined it into a resting position, and fell asleep almost immediately.

I never fully recovered from that coughing fit. I moved carefully through the rest of the day—extra cautious with every transfer. By bedtime, all I wanted was to climb into bed and disappear into my pillows. And I slept great.

The liquid medication is officially out. We’ve replaced it with another crushable pill added to my daily routine. Thankfully, it’s only for ten days.

I have my massage at 9:00 a.m. today. Time to say: have a great Friday. Love you guys. ❤️

Random photo of Wyatt and Coco at my favorite store, Costco, enjoying the hot dogs.

Some more photos of the Lake County half marathon from my sister-in-law, Jill.