Breathe

"I can't breathe!" were the first words I cried to the counseling office, and one of many words I spoke that early morning at St. Pius X Highschool. About thirty minutes before I had parked my car in the school parking lot, I waited in the cafeteria eating an egg, sausage, and cheese breakfast burrito I bought from the school. I wore my required Catholic clothing: khaki shorts and a black collared shirt with my school's logo on the front. My backpack was heavy with large textbooks, notes, and a planer that I used religiously. I spoke to my friends until the bell rang for class to begin. My first period was math, my worst enemy.

I remember feeling physically and mentally drained that day. I thought it was going to be a slow, dull day, and it started like that once Math class began. I was sitting in the front row, my textbook wide open with my notes on the table, and the teacher writing equations on the chalkboard. Several minutes passed since the door closed, and silence loomed over the students. I just wanted to go home and begin a new day, start fresh. In a way, I got what I wanted.

A silent, but potentially deadly wish was planted in my body, specifically my right lung. There wasn't any type of warning or sign to get me ready for what I was going to go through for the next two weeks. I didn't know it was my lung, though, and I wouldn't have known for the next three days. Still sitting in my chair, struggling to understand the math problem on the board, there was sudden and instant pain in my back. The object running down my back felt similar to a that feeling when you drive over a bump on the road and it causes your stomach to jump a few inches, but with more pain and a less nauseous feeling. Somehow the pain felt distant, but it held onto me tightly. I thought it was a muscle cramp, which I often have. I rubbed my back against my chair in hopes the hard surface would soothe my aching muscles. Though, I was embarrassed by what the students thought of me as I continued grinding my back into the chair, I was desperate to get rid of the pain. Within a minute, the pain slowly crept its way down my back, hurting less and less, but at the same time, it became harder and harder to breathe. I could see the teacher explaining the problem to the class. I could see the light from the sun outside shine through the clear windows. I just was not able to comprehend what was going on around me. My world stopped for a full three minutes. I waited for the pain to make sense, as the feeling of something foreign in my body rubbed against my rib cage. The pain, added with the inability to get oxygen into my lungs was terrifying. I held back tears in fear of what the other students would think of me. After a few minutes, I realized it was not muscle cramps, but something worse. I knew if I sat in my chair, waiting for the seconds to slowly tick by, I would go insane. I needed help. I sheepishly raised my hand, and the teacher stopped talking, the whole class looked at me.

I don't know how I kept my voice from cracking when I asked: "can I go to the counseling office?" The teacher looked down at me, blankly with questions forming behind her eyes. She took a few seconds staring at me before allowing me to leave the room. I figured she knew I wasn't the type of student that asked to leave to leave the room, only to meander the hallways. I left my backpack next to my seat, and calmly walked across the hall and into the counseling office. A woman with short gray hair was sitting at the front desk and looked at me.

"I can't breathe," I said as tears were flowing down my face like a river.

She scrunched her eyebrows, "what do you-"

"I can't breathe!" I cried louder. Just forming words and exhaling precious air felt taxing.

She let me see my counselor, a beyond wonderful woman whom I still keep in touch with to this day. She asked me what the problem was and when my pain started. I tried my best, explaining it all to her with hot tears and snot falling from my face. She took out a heating pad and rested it behind the side of my back that hurt. She told me to relax and called my mother to inform her about my issues, and when she hung up, she stayed silent, hoping it would calm me down. While I waited for what seemed like an eternity, I kept my eyes on my counselors' shelf full of St. Pius X knickknacks, along with a few pictures of her daughter and husband.