Here we are
again, another year slowly nearing its end. It’s a strange time for me these
last few years. I’ve grown weaker and can’t even eat much of the delicious
Christmas dinner like I used to. Oh, how I miss those flavors! It feels odd to
just watch the family eat, but that’s just how it is, at least we’re together
and I’m very thankful for that. Things used to be different though, like when I
was a kid everything about December was exciting! Every day we’d open another
hatch of the calendar and get small gifts or treats before breakfast. We waited
and waited, Christmas Eve just couldn’t come soon enough. I often wish I could
turn back time. To a period where magic still existed, where December was more
than just a cold, dark month.
Several years
ago, I was in 9th grade, 15 years old or so. Thinking about it, that’s
nine years ago now. Time passes by as they say. It was the last day of school
before the holidays, a week or two before Christmas. It was a very cold December
afternoon and my assistants were ill or something, so during my school day
people had been filling in for them. However, when it was time to wait or the
bus home, nobody was there to put on my jacket. It was freezing as the bus
pulled over to pick me up. I pushed the door open by nudging it with my
wheelchair. I tried to hurry into the bus, but I could feel the cold biting
into my body. As we drove home I already knew I was going to get sick.
Sure enough, the
very next day my chest was making awful wheezing noises, my lungs filling up
with who knows what. I couldn’t breathe right when lying down, coughing
heavily. All this was before I had any breathing aid and it would turn rather
nasty as we were about to experience. My parents were away at a Christmas party
and my grandparents were watching my sister and I. Sadly my condition didn’t
seem to improve and my mother had to come back home. I had never experienced
anything like this, mucus filling up most of your lungs, like you were
struggling not to drown with every breath you took.
We called the
doctor for advice on what we should do. They suggested we’d try to go to bed,
as it was quite late and if that didn’t help we should phone for an ambulance.
My poor mother put out a mattress on my floor to keep an eye on me, but as soon
as my head hit the pillow I choked. I couldn’t breathe and I started trashing
about in panic. My mother ripped me up and hit me in the back, making me
breathe once more. That was the final straw; I needed medical attention as soon
as possible.
The ambulance came
in a hurry luckily, but when they put me on the stretcher I started choking
once more. I remember the black winter sky above me, snow falling down and my mother’s
cries of panic as I passed out before I got to the ambulance. It was terrifying
and surreal at the same time. At one point I remember thinking “This is it,
this is the end”. While unconscious I could hear the echoes of those around me,
the paramedics, the doctor and of course my mother. It was like I was caught
between life and death. I’m very skeptical when it comes to religion, but for
some reason everything was white and cold, like the mountains of the Himalayas.
It was covered in ice and snow, far away from everything else. It might have
been my mind playing tricks on me, but that was where I was.
Finally my eyes
opened in the emergency room, gasping in relief as the doctors had drained
several liters of mucus, no wonder I was choking. Right after this I fell
asleep, my body exhausted. It wasn’t over there though and I was at the
hospital for a while. Every day I would choke up and they would stick tubes
down my throat to get it all out. At one point it got so bad they had to give
me extra oxygen, straight down my throat. Talking was impossible and on top of
that it wasn’t programmed correctly. Luckily they removed it the next day,
allowing me to breathe and talk properly again. After a long week in hell we
managed to convince them o let me go home for Christmas.
They were a bit skeptical,
but I seemed to be in a good health, no more mucus or risks of choking. They
did however make sure I received my first breathing machines. They were almost
shocked I didn’t have a few already! Well, nobody told us about it until it was
too late. Typical. December 23rd I was home again! My sister gave me
a hug and we had the most beautiful Christmas tree in the living room. All this
was worth fighting for, death would have to wait. In the end it’s not about the
presents, or the food for that matter, it’s all about being together, share,
care and just have a good time in this dark, cold month we call December.
