I floated in the hot springs, like a wallowing marshmallow: inhale to come up, exhale to go down and sink beneath the surface. Lift chin, inhaling through fish lips to lift myself up, wobbling; exhale, slowly descend… to one side.
It had been a few years since I had done this, but something wasn’t right. I was rocking like a drunk.
Inhale, slopping over to the left; inhale further, watch my middle rise, then my belly. Exhale, and sink piecemeal, in chunks.
This was just weird.
I got up, reached for the brains I had left by the side of the pool, and dumped them back into my head.
Now lie back… breathe… whoa, definitely off-balance. Flopping over onto my left side, I grabbed the side of the pool as realization struck.
I was only using my lungs one lobe at a time.
Yeah, weird. I didn’t know it was possible.
Some of you know that the right bronchus is supposed to be more accessible, but it was the left lower lobe that inflated first. The right side inflated second, middle then bottom. Before the left upper lobe. My right upper lobe had simply forgotten how to expand, and took some prodding.
Inhale, slop, wobble; exhale, stagger, bump. The water let me know exactly how well — or not — I was doing.
It was a busy morning, relearning how to use my lungs, rocking like a sea serpent surfing for prey. I spent as little time as possible reflecting on how a once-athletic health nut who liked to meditate, could forget how to breathe.
In a hectic and pun-lathered conversation this afternoon, we decided that “lobing” was a good word to describe working on those skills you really should’ve mastered long ago, preferably with a built-in indicator that not even the terminally clueless could miss.
I’ll spare you the wordplay, except that I’m a little worried about the Loberlords.
Next, I’ll try to go for a walk… but that’s far more complicated.
Maybe I’ll just sit here and breathe.