Fuck. I'm in the yellow.

So, back in October '05 when I had the worst asthma attack of my life and poor hugguhbear had to rush me to the emergency room (where I didn't have to wait a second before they threw me on a bed and stuck a tube in my mouth), I was given a couple of newfangled gadgets to help me prevent that from ever happening again.

One is a peak flow meter and, when I blow into it, it tells me what my current maximum ability is to expel air from my lungs. There's a green, yellow, and red zone, which is basically self explanatory. I'm supposed to be in the green. If I get into the yellow, something's wrong. If I'm in the red, I need to go to the hospital.

So, tonight, I find myself laboring to breathe and I'm in the yellow. The low yellow. The yellow part that's painfully close to the red.

I really don't want to go to the hospital. Aside from the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in weeks, and it's effing cold outside, emergency rooms are so damn expensive. It's a $100 copay, and then if they can't control my breathing, they'll admit me and then that's at least $1500 a day. I just can't afford that. Not when I'm saving for my wedding and trying so hard not to buy pretty things.

Yes, I know I'm being ridiculous. I'm hours away from a full-on asthma attack and I'm blogging about how expensive emergency rooms are and how much that sucks because that will prevent me from paying the cake cutting fee at the reception hall and buying a pretty bag.

Perhaps the lack of oxygen in my brain is causing impaired judgement.