Have you ever had your breath stolen from you?
That moment when everything seems alright, then all of sudden, you start feeling a tightness in your chest. Your lungs have been deprived of the oxygen it needs to help you survive. Reflexively, you try to take a breath. Then two. But the air doesn’t seem to go past your nostrils.
Panic grips you. You’re wheezing now.
You feel tingles creeping up your fingers, coming towards your chest. Your heart is beating loud. It’s the only thing you can hear.
“I can’t breathe,” you try to say but your words are swallowed by the wheezing sounds coming from your nose.
“I can’t breathe,” you try again.
This time, you’re able to get the attention of the person beside you and they turn to you in alarm.
It only takes a second but it feels like an hour as you watch realization dawn on their face.
You feel hands hit your chest as if the hits will magically make your lungs clear up. It’s not working.
Slowly, you feel your vision begin to tunnel. Black creeps around edges. You’re starting to lose consciousness. Your hand grabs at whatever is close to you, trying hard to stay in focus. But you slowly lose your strength.
Within seconds, you’re out cold.
That was how I felt before waking up in the emergency ward of Divine Hospital the next morning. There was an oxygen mask attached to my face, helping me breathe. My family was gathered around the bed, all in different states of distress. My wife’s face was drawn, I noticed she was tightly holding unto my hand.
I had been rushed to the hospital after passing out the previous night.
I tried to sit up and motioned for someone to take off the mask. I felt okay, at least for now. When they had taken off the mask, I took a tentative breath of air. It felt new in my nose. I felt like I’d never breathed before. I felt refreshed.
I greedily gulped down air.
Looking at my family and driver who were gathered around the room, I observed the thinly veiled fear on their faces.
“The Lord is with you,” my wife said, squeezing my hand. I nodded and gave her a bright smile.
The doctor referred me for scans and tests to know what went wrong with my lungs. I shouldn’t be having trouble breathing.
All scans and tests showed that nothing was wrong. They had no idea what was wrong with me. Every night, for the next six weeks, I was rushed to the hospital when I lost my breath. My doctors, home and abroad, couldn’t tell what was going on with me.
Note that this was in 2021, reports of COVID-19 cases were reducing but the isolation centres were filled up. Lots of people in these wards were in need of oxygen to survive. All of a sudden, I became one of them.
Everywhere I went, even at home, I had my nebulizer beside me. The most basic of physical activities became a chore. I had no idea where my breathlessness would start. So, I was always prepared.
My family was always at alert. They didn’t have a full night’s sleep. They always went to bed fully clothed. This was because they had no idea if I would need to go to the hospital that night. My driver slept with his cars perked, expecting shouts for help at any time.
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