Chaos & Calm

Over this past year sometimes when I take a deep breath in it gets caught in my throat. I try to force it through my trachea and a trickle of oxygen reaches my lungs. It’s not enough. In my panic I’m taken back to a year long forgotten. Lying on the cold concrete of a hospital parking garage struggling to breathe, I remember being so calm, while my friend who drove me was frantically screaming for help. I want to tell her it will be okay, but I can’t speak. I just lay on the damp, dirty ground and try to will myself to breathe.

She looks down at me with tears streaming down her cheeks knowing in that moment she will have to carry me. I lost control of my limbs hours ago, but managed to stumble my way to the car, so she could speed down one exit to the hospital. Faster than an ambulance, but now we are on our own. No medics. No sirens. No flashing lights. Just her and the dark. Frantic. Desperate. And me. Feeling her chaos. I can see it in her eyes when she looks around the gray, empty garage she is determined to carry me. The muscle spasms have compromised my legs. They’re weak and wobbly. She’s not going to let me die here.

She weighs just over 100lbs. to my 120lbs., but uses her long legs to lift the weight of my body. She stumbles and we fall. I hit the ground hard and gasp a bit of air. It’s like breathing through a straw the width of a toothpick, but it’s something. It’s something to know your own body is suffocating itself to death. My face contorts, my lungs close more and I’m suddenly feeling the wet concrete on my skin where my shirt has ridden up. I’m trembling from the cold and seizing from the muscle spasms, but I am not afraid. The fear is hers. I’m getting dizzier. She lifts me from under my arms pits. My eyesight is blurring. She’s dragging me now. How sad it would end this way. I want to stop her from yelling and crying. I want her to let me be. I’m getting bluer. She’s yelling at me to breathe. She can tell I’m letting go.

“Breathe! Don’t you dare leave me! Breathe!” She pleads. I try. I’m willing a breath. It has to be there. The strength. Some ounce of power inside me. So weak. “Fight!”  A breath. I push against her. Another breath. Aggravated, forced and marginal, but enough. I hoist myself into her arms half on my feet. She holds tighter and drags me as I stagger forward. I’m moving now. Sort of. We gain some momentum and make it to the emergency room entrance. The doors open automatically and we lurch to the intake window.

This is how I have felt this year. Like I’m suffocating under the weight of it all. Of the pandemic. The systemic racism. The injustice. The fear and uncertainty. The exacerbation and progression of my MS symptoms. Yet, amidst the chaos, I am calm. I am hopeful. I am filled with faith in the goodness of my fellow humans. There are more good people, than not. There are those who fight for justice and walk with the weary. There are helpers and listeners, willing to lift up the dying and drag them to safety.

There is chaos. There is calm. There is another breath.

How has this past year affected you? What is giving you hope? How are you asking for help and what supports have you found?

Here is a link to resources from the National Alliance on Mental Health to help navigate the uncertainty of this time - https://bit.ly/34tjBzJ