Ever since I was a child, I’ve had asthma. It’s not severe, or crippling, usually I can continue with my life as most people with only the odd attack. I was told that I’d grow out of it, but as it turned out, it got worse as I got older – probably because the air that we’re breathing has become much much worse.
I had an episode this weekend, without warning, without real cause. One moment I was laughing with my friends (we were quite hysterical actually) and the next I was coughing and choking, desperately trying to breathe with lungs which refused to take in any oxygen. My Other Half, who’s had to deal with this before, raced to get my inhaler and I was left, alone.
Waiting.
Waiting to breathe.
Those moments are always endless. My every breath is normally followed by a violent spasm of coughing. My instincts scream at me to breathe faster to gasp for air yet I have to remain calm and try to keep my breathing in a steady rhythm. Slow and calm for all the panic that is pushing through me.
Last week was a bit like this, my life threw a metaphorical asthma attack my way, sending me sprawling in all directions trying to organise home, work and everything else that happened in between the lines. My heart raced every moment and I found myself holding my breath as I rushed from one end of my life to the next, waiting for that breath which would come to relief me. Everything stopped as I waited for relief. I stopped writing, stopped blogging, even stopped doing Script Frenzy and letting myself get terribly behind with my page count.
It was a survival mechanism, just as the one which I have to breath slowly and deeply when I have an asthma attack.
Now, the moment’s passed – and I am back. I suspect that I will lose the Script Frenzy challenge I had gotten myself into, but that’s alright. I will still make 100 pages before 30 April.
And I will write, and blog, and carry on with my life.
Because I am breathing again.
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