Ambulances and leaking pipes…

Yesterday was filled with ambulances and paramedics. I had a panic attack which led to someone calling an ambulance. It’s a good job they did as my breathing got completely out of control and I could not slow it down despite clamping my hand over my nose and mouth to dump back carbon dioxide.

The paramedics let themselves in as one had been before. He’s the one who admires my taste in furniture and art and says I am incredibly intelligent as well as pretty.

Compliments about my face and mind don’t impress me much, but I realised he meant it in sincerity and not trying to flatter me. Apart from them sorting me out we talked about virus replication, the expression and deletion of X genes in both women and men, and how men’s immune systems are compromised by the Y chromosome.

Chatting helps one’s breathing to slow. The more one is told to slow one’s breathing, self consciousness prevents success. They were concerned about my heart rate, but that slows as breathing becomes more normal, trailing slightly.

I was made a drink, which is a touch I like and seems to be more understood as a need now. Breathing is thirsty work.

After they left I went in to my neighbours who steadied my hand as I had another drink and we just chatted until my daughter arrived and fed me and spent the evening with me.

I needed another ambulance at 00.40 this morning. They were here for two hours. This time my temperature was slightly up too. We chatted as well. They left when colour was normal and I could talk without gasping. We talked about the poison of insulin and how to avoid more than the least release of it. It is a real threat to good health, as diabetics know.

We also talked about the expression of the Y chromosone and it’s liabilities.

I suddenly presented with a wheeze, out of the blue. So their visit was quite long too.

I am not in a good place to be dealing with sociopaths. It is not my bag now. Especially not outside of a therapeutic relationship.

My gates have their first coat of Forget-Me-Not blue. It looks far better than I hoped, and I will do some tomorrow. It will be therapy for stress.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

4 replies on “Ambulances and leaking pipes…”

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