I woke up the next morning, felt like every joint in my body had made it their life mission to make me suffer. I don’t even own a thermometer but when I got into my car and the dash said it was 100 degrees and I was shivering in a sweatshirt, I knew I was in for it. I got cold and flu medicine, pedialyte, ate even though I had no appetite.
This lasted for less than a day.
I dragged myself to bed that night, an emergency OTC inhaler next to me because I hadn’t had a prescription in almost 20 years.
I woke up at 4am, wheezing, I could feel the mucus in my lungs. I ran a hot shower, the oldest trick in the book. I laid on the floor, not caring about how gross it probably was. I remember trying not to fall asleep, listening to the water fall around me. I pulled myself out, went back to bed.
An hour later, I woke up and the air was gone. Like trying to breathe through one of those coffee stirrers from the gas station. I did breathing exercises while I walked to my car and I remember thinking how nice a coffee would be, that a coffee almost always fixes everything for me. I drove myself to the ER across the street. The thought to call for help never crossed my mind. Maybe I’ve been too independent for too long. The sun was coming up and I wanted to stop, wanted to sit a moment in it, but I knew I was dying, on some instinctual level. I pulled into the ER less than 5 minutes after I woke up, walked inside and told them I couldn’t breathe.
Immediately, I was poked and prodded. The second the breathing treatment started I remember thinking that I would never take air for granted. I wanted to go outside, I wanted to stand in the rain or on the beach. I thought about the pier my friends and I used to walk down in the middle of the night in college, the sound of the ocean around us. I thought about my roommates, going on drives with the windows down, my sunroof open. I thought about standing out in the rain, the hike I’d been meaning to go on but kept pushing off. I thought about my homemade cinnamon rolls, how I didn’t make them much because it took too much time. At least I’d had time.
I had pneumonia, had an asthma attack for the first time in decades, and was septic. My lungs were failing, I was being deprived of oxygen. My lips were blue, though I didn’t realize until I looked back at pictures that had been taken. I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I don’t have insurance, but as every blood test came back I realized that I would’ve died that day if I hadn’t. When I left the hospital, I put myself to bed under my favorite quilt, turned on my favorite song. It was raining that day. I couldn’t stand out in it, but I laid closer to the window and watched it fall.
Ever since, I’ve woken up earlier, texted old friends. I’ve worn clothes I hated because they didn’t “look good”, watched movies I kept meaning to watch, sat out and watched the birds. Every breath has been a gift that I plan on using everyday.
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