17,280 breaths

The human lungs are one of the most essential organs to life. Their job is to transport oxygen from the atmosphere into the bloodstream. There are two lungs in the human body. The right lung is usually bigger than the left. If placed end to end, capillaries would extend 960 miles. The action of breathing is automatic; something that you don't normally think about. A normal respiratory rate is somewhere around 8-14 breaths per minute. Given 1,440 minutes in a day, that averages out to about 17,280 breaths a day. In an average person's lifetime, a person takes about half a billion breaths.


They call it lorazepam, but on six north, we refer to it as ativan. .5 cc's of the liquid form in the IV. That's all it takes. point five cc's of this clear liquid to slip away. And it really does feel like slipping away. The outlines of the world begin to blur and all of the sounds around you blend into each other. There is no distinction between the beeping of the IV, the purr of the fan or the monotonous drone of voices coming from the tv. Everything blends together and the only thing you can hold on to as the drug penetrates your system is yourself. Your body. The fact that your chest is still moving up and down and you can feel the air flowing through your nose and into your lungs. Even then, it only takes a few more minutes after the blurring starts to lose control of that. All of a sudden, there is too much air. It's too easy to breathe and you don't feel like you are breathing at all. Before you lose complete awareness of the world, the last thing you remember is not having enough air and having too much air at the same time and wondering if you are going to wake up after you close your eyes.


I've spent every night the last week laying in bed wide awake for hours, concentrating on my breathing. Memorizing the way it feels to inhale the air of fall and to push it back out. Trying to preserve with every fiber of my being the feeling of being alive. It's been tricky. I am filled with fear. There are times where everything around me is thick, heavy, pitch black and pushing in from all sides, crowding every corner of my mind. It's like a giant blanket of suffocating darkness pushing so solidly on my chest that I'm being constricted of air. 


Breathing is the only thing I hold on to when everything else is spiraling out of control. Concentrating on breathing reminds me that I am alive. That my life is a miracle. There are days when I wake up just being thankful to breathe. I am constantly questioning if I'm worth it, though. I know many beautiful people who I feel could live a lot better than me; do a lot more with their lives than me. I am not strong. and I am nothing special. I am just a girl from New England who has been fighting for a long time to keep going and who is finally feeling tired. 


But I'm still here. And I'm still breathing. My apartment is empty and the fall air is coming in my window. I can smell the damp earth and the slight decay of leaves mixed with my clean hair and my h2o lotion. I can feel my lungs expanding and constricting. I am breathing, heart-beating, alive. 


17,280 breaths a day. How many of those are we aware of? How many of those moments do we take for granted? How many minutes pass by, how many breaths go unnoticed and unappreciated? How many are shared with others? How many are spent alone?


So much held in the breaths of a day. So many moments where your breath is taken away. Standing in summer rainstorms, the sound of thunder rolling through the valley. The innocent laugh of a child. Driving fast with the windows rolled down. Finding yourself breathing in time with the warm body next to you. Laughter that fills your entire being. The smell of home. Warm tea and the weather channel. Swinging. Feet dangling in the river. Looking into the eyes of someone who loves you. 


So here it is.


I don't know how many breaths I have left. No one does, really. And I don't think any one ever really gives that much thought unless they have faced death; until they are watching their life hang in the delicate balance of the between. But I've faced that. I face it every day. It's scarier than you could ever imagine. I have my moments where I forget to breathe. Where I can't. Where it is physically impossible for me to get enough air. 


But I have to try to not let that get to me. I have to keep breathing. I have to keep being alive. Not just "get up, go to school, go to work, go to bed" alive. The alive where I sing loud and I dance around when a good song comes on. The alive where I spend time with people I love. The alive where I do the dishes with a smile and I take the stairs because I still have two legs. The alive where I give to everyone who has ever given something to me. The kind of alive where I go for it all; the no regrets, the "I'm going to let this happen and I'm going to go for it and I'm going to love every second of it because I'm alive and that is what life is for." The alive that makes me remember how beautiful my life is, no matter what happens.


I hurt. all of the time. everything hurts all of the time. 
But I'm alive. 
I'm in love with my life. I'm in love with the people in it. I'm in love with breathing.
I'm in love with finding myself next to that warm body and wrapped in protection and security and comfortable silence; the only sound of our lungs breathing in time. I'm in love with everything that makes me who I am and has helped me become who I am.


So, remember to breathe, Chelsabelle, 
and be fully alive.
life is so beautiful.
and everything will be okay.


I love you all.
Remember to breathe.