I pull on my faux leather leggings and zip up the sides. The leggings are high waisted and fit perfectly. I toss on my oversized black fuzzy mock neck turtleneck before twisting half of my hair up in a tiny knot on the very top of my head secured by a bobby-pin. I glance in the bathroom mirror and quickly apply mascara and a touch of “cloud paint” by Glossier on my cheek bones. Today is day two of my new job. With my hair, face, and clothes secure, I sit on the side of the tub to redo the bandages on my feet before covering them with sheer stockings that have small embroidered dots all over them hoping it will be enough of a distraction from the gauze wrapping. My heels split open a few weeks ago and have not healed over yet. I stand up and shake out two Advil to start the day alongside half a Vicodin from my recent trip to Urgent Care and set off to the bedroom to grab my slides with the fur across the top to complete my look. Jacket on, goodbye to the boys, and I was out the door to the car through the snow ready to take on day two. The wind swept by my face and I felt a quick ping of panic that I couldn’t quite catch my breath but figured it was due to the cold. I quicken my toe-shuffle through the light snow to the car and hop in the front seat lowering my bag into the passenger side and a fresh cup of coffee into the cup holder. The car is warm in minutes and I am off. Day two, new job, new me, new year. 

I’m there 15 minutes before I need to be at the front desk asking for my manager which I believed would have been plenty of time to secure a good parking spot – I was very, very wrong. I circle the lot and finally find a spot that is three rows away from the front entrance and at least 20 cars away from the sidewalk lining the building. I sling my bag over my shoulder, grab my still-warm coffee, and begin my journey into my new job. Yesterday, the first day was orientation. Today, I am actually going to be able to learn the work of the work and meet my teammates. I make it to the sidewalk and start to feel funny so I slow my pace. I have the rescue inhaler from my trip to the emergency room last night. I was having some issues breathing so we went to Urgent Care and after chest X-rays and CT scans no one noticed anything abnormal so the assumption was that I had asthma, hence the inhaler. My bag slumps off my shoulder and I catch it in my hand before it hits the ground. I start to panic. I look around for somewhere to sit. I can’t get a breath in. I cannot breathe. My body starts to crumble to the sidewalk and I am lifted up by two women asking if I am okay. I cannot get words out, I nod and point to my inhaler and try to use it to no avail. The women take my coffee and bag and sling their arms through mine guiding me to the front lobby. They crouch around me as I sit, wide eyed gasping for breath. My manager and hiring manager are standing there waiting for me on the other side of the glass gates. I still cannot catch my breath. 

Finally, my breathing returns to normal and I can form a sentence. The women who helped me had already gone away as I assured them both I was okay. I grab my tote and walk up to the front desk, give them my name, and am directed to the glass gates. I enter through and as I walk, my breath becomes short again so I slow my stroll as I approach my manager and hiring manager. I am all smiles but am terrified. I don’t know what is happening. I don’t know why I cannot catch my breath. I tell my manager about what happened and apologize profusely. They both show concern and advise me to go to the Wellness Center which conveniently is located on campus and is a short walk away. I shuffle toward the Wellness Center and walk through the doors and explain my situation. It is day two, I am not sure if insurance has kicked in yet but I need to talk to someone. The triage nurse guides me back to one of the exam rooms then hooks me up to a nebulizer which is a device that turns albuterol (what is in my inhaler) into a mist and provided everyone concludes my breathing issue is asthma, should open up my airways so I can breathe more easily. I still feel short of breath and scared and now overly anxious about my first impression. What are my coworkers going to think of me? Day two and I’m already in the Wellness Center because I can’t breathe? Will I even get to meet anyone? 

The nurse returns after the liquid in the nebulizer is gone and it is no longer misting. I explain I still feel short of breath and she tells me that I need to go to the ER and have someone check me out as this is beyond what they can do for me at this point in time. I get a note from her to share with my boss and text him that I am being instructed to go to the ER. I am wheeled out to the front and driven to my car by the security guard on call. I sit in my car staring blankly at my phone before I call Sam, my husband, to let him know that I need to go to the ER. I can’t stop thinking “why is this happening to me” and “I should have gone to the ER or to the doctor sooner when I noticed my breathing was labored doing household chores”. I call Sam and after we hang up I drive home and we set off for a full day of waiting, talking with RNs and doctors who, after 12 hours in the ER, dismiss us with one anti-anxiety pill and a recommendation to see a pulmonologist.

I work from home the next two days and re-enter the office the following week. The Wellness Center is allowing me to park in the spots designated at the front of the parking lot so I don’t have to walk as far and my desk is just around the corner. I slowly, and sheepishly, make my way through the doors on Monday and find my desk. Honestly. I am mortified. My face – no my whole body – is burning from embarrassment and I still have no conclusion to what happened. And I am still short of breath. My follow up with the pulmonologist isn’t until March (earliest I could get in) so for a full month and a half, I schlep around winded trying to learn the ropes. By the time I get back into my car at the end of the day I am in tears and tired. My heels are throbbing and my body is worn out. I make it home but am a zombie. A zombie in pain. I don’t know how I pushed through the pain and not being able to breathe. And honestly at this point in my life – two years down the road from the initial diagnosis – I don’t know why I let myself do that. I didn’t listen to my body when it was clearly in need of help. 

On a daily basis I feel like I am drowning miles away from water. It is surreal. It is nothing I had ever experienced before. I have tried to describe it to friends and family and the best I can come up with is feeling like you are drowning on land while someone is pushing hard on your chest. My body goes into flight or fight mode. All my nerves are on edge. My shoulders heave and neck muscles strain. I can’t think or respond. I am curt. I am panicked. I start to sweat and my body boils. I feel like my body wants to escape from my skin but I am paralyzed and cannot move. Everything around me is out of focus. Until I can sit, lean forward, and slow my breathing, allowing the exhale to lengthen until I can successfully breathe at a normal rhythm.