Just Breathe

On Account of Marilyn by Marilyn Wilson

“I’m sorry, we won’t be able to join you today.  On account of Marilyn, we need to stay close to home.”  These were the words, the excuses, the reasons and justifications my mother used often as I was growing up.  You see, at the age of 2, I was diagnosed with chronic asthma.

Remember, that was 1947, decades before pocket-size inhalers and portable nebulizers averted emergency visits to hospitals at all hours of the day and night.

Since asthma sneaks up and attacks with little warning, a child with this disease could cause quite a stir with the least bit of warning.  It wasn’t unusual to be playing outdoors and laughing with my friends, when I would suddenly begin coughing uncontrollably and gasping for breath.  My mother’s ears were tuned to ‘that cough.’  Within moments she would be whisking me into the house, dropping whatever she had been doing, and begin dosing me with medication.

During these tense moments, our eyes would lock in silent communication.  My mother would be watching me very intensely.  She was ‘cocked and primed!’  Ready to hit the road running if necessary.  Prepared for any sign that my symptoms were changing for better or for worse.  I, on the other hand, would search her face for a calm authority; a calm that would assure me ‘everything would be all right.’  It wasn’t always easy to see the anxiety and fear in her eyes.  She had learned to play the game.  She would smile at me and tell me stories that would keep both of our minds off of the business at hand.  Somehow, I always knew, despite the panic that I could occasionally see underneath the veil of composure, that she would know what to do when the time came, regardless of her fear.  After all, she had done it before, and she would do it again – she was my mom!

When the attack was more severe than the medication was able to control, an emergency run to the closest navy hospital was imminent.

If my father was not out on sea duty, he would drive, while my by now frenzied mother, would attempt to keep me quiet and relaxed.  However, it was not unusual for my mother to be the one tagged for months with complete responsibility for my welfare while my father was out at sea.

So, on these frequent dashes to the hospital, it would normally be, mom and me.  I would be gasping for breath mile after mile, and my mother would worriedly smile while her eyes searched the skyline for the outline of the hospital.  I would look over at her to find her holding her breath too – almost guilty for breathing.  We both knew that the hospital was our ‘God’ at that moment.

By the time we would arrive at the hospital, I would be turning blue.  The lack of oxygen mixed with the anxiety was enough to get first hand attention.  Usually I would be placed in an oxygen tent immediately and then a huge shot of adrenaline would begin to do the trick.  Only then, when I began to respond to treatment, could my mother join me and finally take a deep breath.

It would not be long before I would be back on track and the attack would subside as if it was never there.  The adrenaline side effects were now the second worst part of this scene.  Since my heart would then beat a mile a minute, I would chatter about anything and everything.  The last thing my mother needed after the long exhausting hours, was a daughter that would not shut up!

Of course, being my mom and all, she would listen and smile at all of my stories and jokes.  Clearly, she was relieved I was feeling better and was glad to be headed back home where we could both relax and recuperate.

Naturally though, when we arrived home, immediate relaxation would not come.  If it was still day time, my friends would be ready to play again.  As we all know, kids are very adaptable and get over things quickly, so I was always eager to join them.  When my mother would answer the joyful knocks on the door of the neighborhood children, I would hear the words, the dreaded words.  My mother would again weakly smile and say, “I’m sorry kids, on account of Marilyn and her asthma attack, she won’t be able to play anymore today. We’ll see how she feels tomorrow.”

The End.