Bent, Not Broken: My Scoliosis Story (among other things)

Shaking on The Floor

I'm sorry if nothing I say makes sense right now. But you know what I said about writing being an escape? I need an escape right now. I'm dizzy. I'm seeing spots. I can't do this anymore. Paul. He's been rushed to urgent care. I could hear him breathing from across the room. He has chronic lung disease. He's not getting enough oxygen. He looked faint, tired, unusual for him, as he is usually bouncing off the walls. I called my mom and she hooked him up to the Pulsox. His heart and breathing rates are dangerously fast and his oxygen saturation scary low. He can't breathe. I rushed around in a daze as my mom started the car. My dad's not around and I had to calm him down and pack his bags for the hospital. I got him dressed and, looking into his big brown eyes, I saw a terrified eight year old who just wanted air. He is my WORLD. I watched as the one I love most struggled to take a breath, something we all take for granted. I held back tears. I can't cry, I can't scare him. I carried him to the car, Paul clinging to my neck. He was too faint to even stand without losing balance. In the dark of the night, I began to cry, Paul peering over my shoulder as I hauled my world to the car. The car started and drove away. Dizzy, off-balance, I watched it pull away, staring long after the headlights faded. I see spots. I don't feel right. I couldn't come with, I have to take care of my siblings. Take care of them. But I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. But I'm dizzy. And crying. And scared. It just puts everything into perspective. And I'm terrified, knowing my world is on it's way to the hospital, struggling to keep itself together. I love you, Paul. Please stay.