Breathe Easy

• Valentina Duong, Grade 12, Fort Street High School
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'Write As Rain 2014' competition

The smell was acrid. The sharp bitterness of antiseptic burnt my nostrils. I felt like my lungs were being crushed. Air particles assaulted the thick layer of mucus barricading my bronchi walls. The lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuated erratically. My eyes darted wildly between the sterile white walls that were caving in on me. They pause as her warm fingers curl on my shoulder. Slowly, she mouths “focus” and together we breathe deeply. In and out. In and out. Finally, the particles penetrated and oxygen and relief flooded my body, followed closely behind by dread… Numb, I leaned back into my mother’s arms, awaiting the ensuing coughing fit.
***
She moves in rhythm with her daughter. Her arms mirror each tumble and turn of Phoebe, ready to perform airway clearance techniques in a moment’s notice. As Phoebe coughs heavily, there is no doubt that even their breaths are in synchronisation. Instead of taking charge, I stand quietly behind her. The most important thing that I have learnt in my twenty-two years of nursing is that nothing compares to a mother’s love. But even a mother’s love cannot create miracles. Behind every smile and laugh is the unspoken knowledge: The maximum life span of cystic fibrosis patients is 35 years. Not enough time to grow old, have grandchildren, pay off a house and car. But enough time to laugh, cry, dance, scream, hug, to start a family and create memories. Enough time for someone to be loved… and lost.
Glimpsing my figure she speaks, “Jess I don’t think I’m going to go to the dance tonight.”
“ Pheebs. It’s ---“
“… our tradition. You’ve been going to the Sydney Children’s Hospital Dance since you were four”, interrupts her mother.
“But I’m too weak to..”
“dance? That doesn’t mean you can’t have fun” she said in a soft, resolved tone.
***
The milestone. Even though she is retired, Jess stands beside me lighting the 35 candles that my mother had miraculously arranged on my cake. For my entire life, this day had loomed as my expiry date but today, the only thing I was worried about expiring was the creaky hinges on the swing of the fairy garden. Where the Sydney Children Hospital dance is still held today.
***
Jess wheels me into the room towards the main group socialising in the centre, a nebuliser trailing closely behind. “Stop.” Following my requests, she leads me to a small table in the corner of the room.
Disconnecting me from the whirring machine, she pushes me further and further in to the centre as the music pumps loud in my ears. Sweaty, pulsating bodies press against my cool skin. I breathe heavily as my wheelchair spins around and around and around. In moments like this, I don’t mind having my breath taken away.

Dedicated to Phoebe. Stay strong beautiful x