Last night during our bedtime routine, my daughter wanted to show me her freshly bandaged wound that she had acquired from playing soccer with our dog on our fun day Sunday adventure. She had given the time and attention to carefully mend it before climbing into bed, doing her best not to let any "bad things" get inside the cut. The band aids lay comfortably on top, smothering it intentionally for protection. "Do you want to see my cuts, mom?" She asked me, proud that she no longer needed my assistance in managing her wounds. Careful not to discourage, I nodded with a smile. "I would love to. Have those bandages been on all day? Can you take them off so I can assess the damage?" She thought for a moment, knowing that her reply would mean taking my suggestions, robbing her of the independence she had just gained. "I just changed the band aids, it looks good and feels fine." She smiled in a hopeful way. I knew it was important to keep her in the leader role. "You did great taking care of that. It's nice that you know how to handle your own problems and help yourself get through them, I am proud of you. Do you think it's a good idea to remove the bandages for the night to let it breathe? All cuts need to breathe at times to be able to heal properly." I smiled casually as I became lost in my last words. "All cuts need to breathe at times to be able to heal." Feeling a sense of wonder as my mind reached deep inside, relating this last statement to recent "cuts" in my life that I have needed to breathe from. I felt enlightened as she lifted the bandages to expose the fresh cut that had slight amounts of plasma glistening, trying to scab over the wound for the proper protection that it needed instead of the temporary one. It's crazy how something as small as a bandaged cut can relate to our lives in a deeper form. Often, when we use a temporary cover to guard our "cuts" it can do more harm if we don't let our wounds breathe and heal in their own unique way. Trying to use covers for our “cuts” will only delay the raw healing that we need. Once again, choosing to slow down and listen was the best option. My heart feels a little less at war and more at peace now that I can breathe.

You groggily awaken in the OR. Your surgery has ended so you close your eyes for a peaceful recovery. Without warning, you feel as though you're being propelled through a wind tunnel and somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone shout, “Hurry, she's not breathing.” Someone else shouts: “Her heart stopped.” You wonder who is about to die but the bright lights of what you assume are hospital hallway lights are too bright for that thought to last too long. They're so bright, you squeeze your eyes shut against the glare. All is now suddenly quiet and peaceful. Someone is gently shaking your shoulder while saying, “Wake up. Come back to us. Open your eyes.” You realize, someone is speaking to you. I opened my eyes but found I couldn't speak. What happened? I was fine just a few minutes ago. Wasn't I? A doctor walks over and says, “You had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. Your lungs and heart stopped working. You'll be on a ventilator until you can breathe on your own again.” That happened to me in February of 1979. It was the scariest part of my life. Every hour, for eight hours, a nurse would approach. I would hear a loud “CLICK”, then no air! Nothing! As hard as I tried, no air! I would see a hand pass over the top of the tube that was inserted down my trachea. I would hear her say, “Nothing yet. Hook her back up.” Another loud, “CLICK” then beautiful cool, refreshing air and I'd be breathing again. Actually, I wasn't breathing at all. The ventilator was breathing for me, but it was keeping me alive. As hard as I tried, I couldn't get my lungs to function. Was I doomed to a life of ventilator dependency? Did the lack of oxygen paralyze me? Did I suffer any sort of brain damage? Time continued to pass by and every time I closed my eyes, a nurse would rush over saying, “Now, honey, please don't close your eyes. Stay awake for us. You can't sleep.” Another question. Why? Why was I denied the privilege of a nap? I felt so tired. I wanted desperately to sleep even if only for an hour or two. I thought of my two young sons. Their father and I were separated with a pending divorce. Before the surgery, he graciously volunteered to keep them for the duration of my recovery. He had no idea what was happening in the ICU. No one called him. I'm not blaming anyone. No one had his new phone number. I had it but was in no condition to give it out. Lying helplessly in the ICU, as the clock on the wall ticked away each second, all I could think of was breathing and getting home to my sons, rebuilding my life again without my almost ex-husband. Boredom had me drifting off again Another nurse, whom I'll call Anne hurried to my bedside. She gently stroked my forehead. “You need to stay awake. We're afraid if you fall asleep, you might slip into a coma.” Wow! That opened my eyes in a hurry. It was towards the end of her shift. I heard the shuffle of feet and saw Anne's face. “It's time once again. This time, I want you to try and take the deepest breath you ever inhaled.” I heard that all too familiar, “CLICK”. I focused and finally after eight agonizing hours, took the tiniest whisper of air you could possibly imagine. But it was enough. “Yea!” Anne exclaimed. She shouted to another nurse, “She took a breath. A small one but it was there.” A second nurse verified that I indeed took a small breath, a few of them. Anne said, “Close your eyes. We're removing the tube.” It felt like someone was removing a cactus plant from my trachea but suddenly, it was out, but was breathing on my own! Anne said I could now close my eyes and take that long awaited nap. I'd soon awaken in my own room. I have no idea why I reacted so badly to the anesthesia but to this day, here in 2020, there have been occasions where anesthesia stops my breath. The doctors, nurses, and anesthesiologists are all aware of this problem and take extra precautions to ensure it doesn't happen again. Have I been on a ventilator since then? Yes. Yes, I have, but for no longer that 2 hours and that's because the doctors are forewarned and monitor me very closely. I know the fear of not being able to breathe voluntarily. It's a horribly scary thing to go through. I can't help but have the deepest empathy for those who contract and suffer from COVID-19 and must be ventilated. For those who live through it, they'll never forget the time when the only thing keeping them alive was a machine. For those that didn't make it, all I can say is that it was a horribly, hideous way to die. I no longer take breathing for granted. I haven't since February of 1979 and never will.

As I sit at my computer, now and then, I glace out the window. An occasional car will pass by and I wonder from where it's coming. The time is 4:50 in the afternoon so whoever is driving, must be heading home. But, from where? We are not under a mandatory quarantine but under the circumstances, I wonder if that is wise. I know there are “essential” workers, those who keep our markets open, mail delivered, truck drivers, medical personnel, etc. We need these people more than we ever thought about. We always took their services for granted. Not anymore. I finally realized how important these people are to my everyday living. Then there is another group of people whom I haven't yet been able to categorize. One example is my friend and neighbor from across the street. Every day she hops in her car and is gone for at least an hour. She says she's tired of being “cooped” up and just needs to go for a drive. Is that really a wise thing to do? What would happen should her car break down and she needs to call for assistance? Using gas to just “get out” is also, in my opinion unwise. Now, you're touching the gas pump, which might transfer bacteria to your hands for you to transfer to everything else you touch. Bacteria can live on certain objects for at least 12 hours so even if you wash your hands, the bacteria are still on whatever else you touched before – just waiting for you to touch it again. This is a critical time in the lives of everyone. No one yet knows how to eradicate the virus that is infecting the world, so caution is our best defense. My husband and I chose to stay at home as much as humanly possible. If we have the need to venture out, we wear masks and gloves which we deposit in a plastic bag we keep in the car. We wipe everything down with alcohol and shower as soon as we get home. Are we being overcautious? Maybe. But we're still here and healthy. Isn't that what counts? People who have never had a serious illness take breathing for granted. Over 30 years ago, I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia administer to me before surgery. My heart and breathing stopped. I was placed on a ventilator. After eight hours, I began breathing on my own, but the incident was an experience I'll never forget. Have someone hold your nose and cover your mouth for 20 seconds. 20 seconds isn't long but when you know you can't breathe; it seems like a lifetime.

I am all about productivity. I stress when I don't do enough 'beneficial' things throughout my day. It is especially an issue on my days off from work. I put so much pressure on this day to be good because it is my day off, then I stress that I'm not doing enough work. I frustrate myself, my boyfriend or anyone else with me. But sometimes I need to realize...it is okay if all I did today, was breath.