4. Don't Hold Your Breath

The breathing tube was a clear plastic tube in my mouth. I couldn't see it, so imagined something really extreme, like: what if they had removed my lungs and my chest was now automated. I thought really sci-fi, and that my skin had been removed and my neck and jaw had been replaced by a maze of tubes. Actually, it was just a tube that ended above my voice box. It was stuck to my cheeks with some kind of holder that irrrited me. I couldn't even comprehend the tube, but those pads itched.

I was experiencing bouts of extreme stiffness and limb pain akin to intense growing pain. The face stuff was all irritating, but the pain was in my bones. My face could not really express itself at the beginning, but my eyes could, and my hand could. Gradually, I was able to nod and shake my head a bit, and cry if it came to that. Pain was treated by IV paracetamol and morphine, which I never felt kick-in as such, but I knew they helped. When they told me, my first thought was that I don't want to become addicted like Katniss in 'The Hunger Games' Book 3. It was very embarrassing when people came to visit and I was clearly in lots of pain.

But having the tube in my mouth wasn't actually painful. I have no idea how it worked; I just know how I imagined it to. I spent long hours picturing gobstoppers of energy being sucked down into my chest. I think my tongue started working early on, as I kept thinking I could control the flow slightly (I couldn't). To be honest, I couldn't feel the tube was even there, and was surprised when I saw it. I was also surprised I wasn't wearing goggles, because I was convinced I was, and kept checking with my family. All I know is, after a few days of this, with my right hand just about strong enough to roam, and my mind constantly sucked and siphoned by a horrible sleep-state, I thought, "Time to die now." I didn't pull the tube as I really didn't know what it was. (Impossible to see what's under your nose all along). I just pulled at the cheek pads. Nothing happened. The nurse and my dad went "Nooo Elizabeth!" and I immediately felt bad for worrying them. That was when I realised they really weren't going to let me die, and oddly I felt better. They put my hand in a boxing glove though.

I spent my time trying to beat the machine, and breathe before it would breathe for me. (Suddenly, my lungs would whoosh full and I'd loose my streak again). The machine would explode into a frenzy of beeping at all times of the day, panic-mode of a mother hen, when it got concerned and wanted to call the nurse. I'd try and think soothing thoughts. Didn't the poor thing know it was destined to save me every time? One time I was listening to Kings Kaleidoscope's 'A Prayer' on headphones put on me by Joanna, and at the emotional climax of the song where a silence is held, the machine went crazy. The nurse explained what it meant to my worried family, and I silently stewed. I couldn't believe that traitorous machine tried to snitch on me; I'd been doing so well! Well, I guess it is an emotional song.

Sometime after this drama, they began saying I was stable enough to have a tracheotomy tube instead, and that would be a lot less annoying. Frankly, I felt they would know best, whatever would be wisest. On the 28th of September, a week after I was admitted, a small finger-length tube with a plug in the middle was put in my ineck just below my voice box, clearing my mouth. The traccy was attached to a ventilator by a long clear tube which blew warm damp air into my lungs, and all my air went back up the tube. No air went through my mouth so I couldn't make a noise. Think about it.  Finally, my face was free.

My brain. The grey blob is the bleed.