Breathe

I have had a wonderful Christmas, but rough few days, needing a nebulizer treatment every day. Turns out, I have pneumonia... again. And in the docs words, my asthma is "out of control." So, I know the routine, the nebulizer breathing treatment every four hours (yes, I have to wake up for that too). The steroids to get the acute lung inflammation down, the antibiotic that treats scary and crazy diseases such as anthrax. I said the the doctor, "I am just so sick of being so vulnerable to this stuff."  She replied, "Well, it seems like your asthma is getting worse, and it's masking the pneumonia you've had for a week or more. We'll have to put you on more continuous meds after we get through this so it doesn't get like this again, or your lungs could acquire COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder) when you're older.


So, now I am out of breath when I am in the shower, making the bed, getting dressed, you name it. And it made me think of my blog I wrote a year and a half ago, April 2006, when I was the sickest in my life with a misdiagnosed "bronchitis" (it was pneumonia as well, but treated the same). All I can think of is how simple it is to take for granted, breathing. Maybe that is what life is trying to teach me right now. I'm not sure. All I do know is that I've got a lot of healing to do in order to take a deep breath again.  

Breathe  

Laying in the Maine sunshine today, I watch the sun dance off the Damariscotta River from the front of the sea house. I feel the ocean breeze brushing by and hear the gulls laughing to each other in the blue above me. I realize today was the 6 week mark from the day I had foot and ankle surgery on March 8th, 2006. I realize I have come a long way and that realization helps me enjoy the moment even more. I sit there absorbing every moment of warmth in the sunshine. Breathing in deep, breathing out every last bit. I think of the past two weeks and my struggle with the worst case of bronchitis I have ever had. The trip to the ER when I couldn't breathe, and when the doctors ran every test to see if I had some sort of clot or embolism to cause such respiratory distress. I recalled a small, shallow breath being too difficult when being wheeled in to get a CT scan of my lungs. I recall thinking, "I can't breathe anymore, I am too tired. I wonder if I can stop breathing for just a minute, it hurts too much." And I remember thinking and talking to God, and asking, "Is it time for me? If it's not, you do this, breathe for me right now. I am too tired." 

I remember falling asleep after that. I woke up exhausted, but feeling slightly better than before. I had a long two-week recovery, but the worst was over. What a wonderful gift to breathe. We all have it, we all take it for granted. Life. From the moment we exit our mothers, we inhale. When we pass away we let go of our last breath. We exhale, and exit this world.  

The sun cradles me and brings me from the ER - to the Now - while I am hearing every sound around me. The chimes hanging from the coal shed roof, announcing the changes in direction of the breeze over the pile of wood. The breeze is announcing changes in direction. The Earth is breathing too. The chickadees chattering to each other in the pines, fluttering just inches over my head. I hear their feathers rustle, they fly so close, like angel wings. My cat Daisy's bell jingles. I open my eyes. She's not visible, but I imagine she's excited with the bird's antics and acrobatics over my head, and she must be watching closely, that huntress. The shrill call of a young osprey echoes above me. I keep breathing in deeply, breathing out every last bit. I enter a state where I do not hear, feel or see, in a normal sense, but I am still amazingly aware. Even the throbbing in my ankle has stopped. I wipe my mind clean. I breathe. And God, it feels good.