props

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

no sooner did i defame my boyfriend's character than did he totally save my life.

and i'm not even exaggerating.

imagine being woken up at 4am by someone who is fighting for air.

in one of my short, wheezy exhales i managed to get out the words, "i can't breathe."

i didn't want to make him panic, but i felt i had to keep him abreast of my situation: i thought i was going to turn blue, pass out, and perish. and then i would turn gray.

we sat in the loft bed, struggling through nasty coughing fits, trying to find some means to breathe. he poured a bottle of water on my leg.

once i found the shallowest of breaths, i made my way to the couch. "i don't know what this is..." i gasped.

"i'm calling 911."

the emergency guys showed up with two cops (standard practice in hell's kitchen? crack den potential?) and the cops showed up with their trite bravado.

"what is this? a walk-in closet?" chided one.

"did you just walk up those stairs?" said another in reference to the 5-flight walk-up.

hey - nypd. this is new york. you ain't never seen a walk-up before?

i'm GLAD one of them twisted his ankle on the way down.

you know, there are PLENTY of good cops in this city. why must a couple of ass-monkeys try to ruin the reputation of the whole lot?


"what's the problem?" asked the ambulance guy.

"can't breathe. bad flu. asthma attack."

"how do you know?"

"this happened before. the doctor told me it could happen again."

"you don't have asthma unless you're genetically predispositioned to it or if you've been diagnosed with it."

"what is it about 'the doctor told me so' that is not 'diagnosed'?"

"what you have is bronchitis."

i left the hospital after being treated for asthma, and with a prescription for an asthma inhaler.

but before any of that happened, i had to be seen by the triage nurse, who kept falling asleep in between each of her screening questions. and who wouldn't look up to see me nod or shake my head in response to her questions. she just kept asking them over. and over. what is it about "she can't breathe, she can't speak" that a nurse or paramedic cannot understand?

so props to the man who was up from 4am until noon with me at the hospital, waiting for the pharmacy to open and filling my prescriptions at two duanne reades (because the first one didn't have the inhaler...), sustaining a substantially worse attack ONE HOUR after i got back from the hospital, sleeping ON THE FLOOR beside me because i had to be propped up on the futon, and cooking for me for 3 days.

and for pouring water on my leg.

xox