Member-only story
I Should Be Dead
On failing lungs, and refusing to let them fail.
The frailty of the existence and thin veneer of life get thrown into sharp relief when your ability to inhale and exhale have been compromised. Imagine, day after day, gasping for oxygen — walking up stairs, sitting at home, or just during a casual night out with friends. This has always been my life … it still is.
I watched in horror as a venerable army of stuffed animals were trucked out of my bedroom and to an undisclosed location, never to be seen by me again.
Pollen should be avoided. Basements became troublesome. Exercise with caution. Beware around dogs and cats. Watch yourself in the great outdoors. Don’t get yourself all wound up. You don’t know what mold is yet, but you will know it by the sound of your wheeze. And, for the love of all that’s holy, be careful in the cold. Here’s a cable-knit scarf. Wrap it around your head and don’t, under any circumstances, take it off. This is your life. Or … as much of it as your lungs will allow you to live.
My first real memory is of a nameless, faceless man being welcomed into my family’s home almost 35 years ago, when I was a young, oblivious pup. (I assume in modern parlance these people are called “Medical Device Technicians,” but I can’t truly be certain of said banalities.) He was carrying with him a…
