Three Years Ago Today, I Nearly Died, And It May Have Saved My Life

September 28, 2009 Uncategorized

October 1st, 2006, I wrote the following, regarding Thursday September 28th.  I haven’t had a cigarette, not even one puff, since then.  It’s a story, however kooky you think it is, that may have saved my life.

Yes, you read that right. I was dying. On Thursday night, while my family awaited a pizza delivery, I was busy dying, and no one could hear me because I was too weak to scream, “I’m DYING IN HERE! COME GET ME!”

Let’s back up a bit, shall we? Last Monday, I wrote to you lovely people and told you that I had a lung thing going on. Sure it was bad then. The coughing was making my eyes pop out of my head like a cartoon character, the migraines had my ears considering an escape from my head, and my lungs, if they could have, would have sprouted legs and said, “So long Charlie.”

So the lung thing got worse. The headaches got worser. The coughing was at it’s worstest. Remember the elixer doctor? You know the guy who prescribed that old fashioned stuff that made us laugh, and we poked fun at him? You commenters, me, us? Yeah, he must have called upon some unseen warlock force and made Karma sneak up on me. See, I took the antibiotics, once a day, as I was told to. I avoided the migraine drugs, as the pharmacist warned. I took the elixer, when I desperately needed it. I carefully measured it out, using my measuring spoons for baking.

Thursday was the worst day of all days. I couldn’t catch my breath for coughing. My head exploded with every single hack. I finally caved and took the elixer once Daren came home. Then I told him I was having trouble breathing and I was going to lie down in our bedroom.

What happened next is going to sound very silly, maybe a little hokey, but I don’t care. If you roll your eyes during this post, keep it to yourself.

As I lay on my side, my breaths became shallower and shallower. Harder to take in. Work to breathe out. Laboured. Scary laboured. I could not take a deep breath. My throat was closing and I could not move. That elixer was basically liquid codeine (5 mg per 5 ml) and holy shit, it was killing me.

I couldn’t yell for Daren. My lungpower was that of a mouse. I thought about lung cancer. I thought about how lung cancer probably kills you in the exact same way, and that every breath just gets harder and harder. Tears rolled down the side of my face and soaked my pillow as I thought about smoking and how if I could just get through this, I would never smoke again.

I concentrated hard on breathing. I made myself take in bigger breaths, but they never lasted. I was drowsy, and couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt drunk, underwater. I felt like a motionless mass, and my chest was so incredibly heavy. I begged God to keep my throat open. Begged. God. This coming from a woman who has never known much about God. This coming from a woman who isn’t sure who or what God is. But I begged Him, as I thought of my two little boys downstairs. I could hear them playing together. I didn’t want to die, but I really felt as though I might. I wanted to get up off the bed and go to them. I wanted to scream for Daren. I couldn’t do anything.

Very slowly, desperately trying not to panic, trying not to need more oxygen than I could take in, I managed to somehow get all my pillows behind me and lie in a sitting-up position. The air was easier to get like that, though if even possible, my breaths became so superficial and shallow, I must have passed out.

When I came to, it was only a mere few minutes later, I started trying to force more air in, taking deeper and deeper breaths. It was at this time that Daren came in to check on me and through laboured conversation, I managed to tell him what was going on. He called the pharmacist right away and she told him it was an allergic reaction. All I could do was wait it out.

Once everything had settled down and I was able to walk and breathe again, I joined my family at the dining room table and looked at them, one by one, as they interacted with each other. The kids had no idea of what just happened, and I’m not sure Daren realized what I had gone through. More tears rolled down my cheeks as I smiled at them.

A few minutes passed. I got up and called Dylan over to the dishwasher. I handed him my pack of cigarettes and told him to do whatever he wanted with them. He threw them in the garbage with a huge smile on his face. I haven’t smoked since then, and I have no desire to.

And I don’t know if I believe in God. I mean, I’d like to think there’s someone or something looking over us. Someone or something was looking over me Thursday night. It saved a butthacker’s life. Oh wait, EX-butthacker.