I’m not scared of dying.
That’s the first thing I write on my list of the things to tell my nurse. It’s also one of the reasons they should have sent me to the therapist a long time ago.
I haven’t feared death for a long time. Three years ago when no one knew what was wrong with me. When a doctor after doctor told me that they couldn’t help me. You learn to accept the worst-case scenario. I may not live to be over 25. I may never write the books I have dreamed of. Never have my first kiss. Never see all the wonders of the world.
Maybe that’s the reason why last autumn it was so easy for me to accept it for the second time.
I may die at any moment but there’s nothing I can do to help it. I’m not scared. If I die then I die and that’s it. If someone crashes to my car, I cut my arm with a knife or there’s some kind of catastrophe, it’s deadly. My life hasn’t been like others’ for a long time. When something happens my body dies alone. Calling help or going to hospital won’t be possible and I will just die.
Because I don’t fear dying but I fear dying in hospital.
The memories of that sunny day in August haunt me in my dreams. I wake up in the blue hospital bed covered by a baby blue blanket. Dark blue curtains cover the bed from the emergency room. My bed is the last in its row.
I sit up only to see the doctor standing at the end of my bed. Her mouth curves to something seeming like a smile when our eyes meet. She says something but I can never exactly recall what. My answer never comes.
My lungs stop working. I can’t breathe. First my legs don’t work, then hands, then fingers, in the end my whole body is locked down. I scream but no sound comes out of my mouth. My eyes won’t stay open and all I can see is hues of blue through tears.
The doctor talks but all my energy is used to trying to get her to help me. It feels like I’m going to die. My body has stopped working and in second there won’t be enough oxygen for my brain.
“I have other patient and don’t have time for this.”
The words I can recall from word to word. She walks away. And I’m left alone dying to the last bed of the emergency room. In my dreams, no one comes. It takes forever before I wake up in my own bed gasping for air me in the past needed so badly.
But these nightmares are the easiest. It’s a story from the past and I already know the ending. Someone returns to me – the doctor or maybe a nurse. They help me to call my mom. It feels like a forever but then my mom is there and I know I won’t die alone. And now a year later it’s easy to say that my body wasn’t even dying. No, it was just a panic attack.
Those nights I survive but then there’s the other dreams. The ones about future I can’t just hide under my bed after waking up.