After a trifecta of illness, I’m again breathing without thinking about it

Last fall, I had shingles, diverticulitis, and an upper respiratory infection, all within four weeks. I call that period a trifecta of illness.

In the months after the trifecta swept through me, even my chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) breathlessness felt heavier, as if it had inherited its own exhaustion. I woke each morning wondering which version of my lungs I’d get that day — the cooperative pair or the ones that made every inhale feel like a negotiation. I kept trying to move forward, but the rhythm was uneven, the old dance of one step ahead and two steps back. Recovery felt like walking uphill on loose gravel, never sure if the ground would hold.

By evening, my spine told the truth I tried to outrun. Every vertebra felt sore, stacked like a column of tiny protest signs. I didn’t understand it then, but now I know the body keeps its own ledger. Inflammation accumulates quietly. Muscles that have worked overtime to keep you upright finally let go. And when the world stops asking anything of you, the body whispers what it’s been carrying all day.

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Moving forward after a backward slide

But something has shifted. The backward slide isn’t showing up as often. My COPD breathlessness — once the loudest voice in the room — has softened. Not disappeared, but eased, like a stubborn fog finally thinning enough to reveal the outline of the road ahead. I catch myself breathing without thinking about breathing, and that alone feels like a small miracle.

Part of this change, I’m convinced, comes from moving again. Not in grand, athletic gestures, but in the small, steady ways that exercise reshapes a healing body. Movement coaxes the lungs to open a little wider. It teaches the diaphragm to work with me instead of against me. It sends fresh blood to tired muscles and clears out the inflammatory clutter that builds up when illness has kept you still for too long. Even gentle exercise reminds the body how to circulate, how to stabilize, how to trust itself again.

And the spine — my evening storyteller — responds too. Those sore vertebrae aren’t just complaining; they’re adapting. They’re learning to carry a life in motion instead of a life on pause. The ache feels different now, less like punishment and more like evidence that I’m participating again. It’s the soreness of muscles waking up, joints remembering their purpose, tissues rediscovering their resilience.

Recovery, I’m learning, isn’t a straight line. It’s a slow re‑negotiation with the self, a daily choosing. And lately, for the first time in a long while, the math is working in my favor. The steps are still small, but they’re all pointing forward.

Note: COPD News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your physician or other qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of COPD News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.