Fragility

I’m sitting in a hospital room listening to the whizzing noise of a bi-pap machine. The room smells clean and sterile, and the air is cool. I hear voices in the hallway and carts rolling by with nurses hurrying to take care of their patients. The seconds on the clock tick slowly by and the red second hand ticks with a quiver. My ankles are swollen and my mouth is dry. I’m wishing I had the big sweet tea that I left at my house. Thankfully, a sweet nurse tech brought me a cup of ice water.

Just hours before, I sat in the emergency room watching my mama gasp and flail. She couldn’t breathe and was beginning to lose hope. She told me more than once, “I don’t think I can fight much longer.” I was helpless and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how we could go from a little shortness of breath to her oxygen dipping every now and then into the seventies. It happened so quickly and I’m so thankful that I made the choice to bring her to the hospital.

I watched her as she thrashed around in the bed, with her eyes wild with fear and listened to her labored breathing. I know the nurses got tired of me calling them but she was begging to breathe. Mama told me she was getting tired. I pushed my fingernail into my palm so that I wouldn’t cry. I moved the pain in my heart to physical pain to keep my emotions in check. She wouldn’t see me cry if I had to pierce a hole in my hand. She had enough panic for the both of us and I damn sure wasn’t going to give her one more thing to worry about.

I’ve never seen her this sick. She’s been sick before and had pneumonia before. But not like this. Not so suddenly that I couldn’t figure out what was going on. She hasn’t been coughing, no fever, no major respiratory issues other than the shortness of breath. How could this be happening when there was no warning?

That is the fragility of life. One minute you’re alive and well, and in the blink of an eye it can all change. She was not feeling the best this morning but we attributed that to her needing to get her heart back into rhythm. She had that procedure done and came home. It seemed abnormal for her to sleep so much but I thought perhaps it was the anesthesia. When she got up and wasn’t talking as much, I knew there was something off. I watched her breathing and when I tried to talk with her, she was gasping like a fish out of water. I knew she didn’t want to go to the ER with all those “sick people,” but I also knew that I didn’t have the medical training to keep her at home.

Within an hour of checking into the ER, she was gasping so hard, her abdominal muscles were struggling. Her blood pressure shot up and her oxygen levels plummeted. She was in trouble. Everything and everyone around me seemed to move in slow motion. I even felt like I was walking in sand. All the while, she struggled. And flailed. Her resolve was almost gone and I saw her losing her grip on this life. She fought. And fought. Mama is one tough lady. She said, “I’d give anything to make this go away.” I panicked at the thought of what could happen. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. I asked others to pray. And I called other health professionals to get their advice.

I don’t know what time we checked in but it’s almost 1am now. She’s finally calmed down and breathing easier. I witnessed the fragility of life today when I saw her teter on the edge. I saw it crumbling ever so fast and without regard to what we both wanted to happen. She consented to be intubated if it gets to that point. But I’m praying that we stay on this side of the fragility and progress towards being able to walk right out of this place.

Tonight we walk the wire. The bipap whizzes and whirs. The second hand ticks with a quiver. Nurses scurry about, dashing up and down the halls. And the fragility of life repeats itself all throughout this place. We are not alone on this journey. And I pray everyone who’s walking the wire tonight finds rest on their side of fragility.