#asthma attacks

1. Asthma attacks are not always over when they’re “over.” It can a long time to fully recover from one and it’s terrible the whole way through. Like, days.

2. Some can’t always tell immediately when they’re having an attack. Depending on the situation, it can a minute to clock something’s really wrong + one can easily confuse it with panic/anxiety attacks (and vice versa).

3. I can’t believe I feel the need to say this but ITS FUCKING TERRIFYING TO BE UNABLE TO BREATHE. It’s not an easy or simple illness. It’s a really hard thing to experience, especially during and after a serious attack. Scared to sleep type scary.

4. Yeah, actually, this can and does effect ability to be productive. See above: it’s not an easy illness.

5. Different people have different triggers. For some people it’s things like perfume, for others it might be exercise induced, could be seasonal, could be temperature, etc. etc.

6. Building off the last point, believe people. Don’t tell someone their own limits and force restrictions onto them + Don’t tell them they’re wrong when they say you’ll hurt them because “someone else with asthma you know isn’t bothered by it.”

People know their bodies better then you. Trust them to know when it’s a big deal and when it’s not.

"Nicky." Lark exhales, lips brushing Nick's ear. A shiver rakes down his spine in response. He’s sitting on the ground, half slouched against a grimy wall. Hands grip at his shoulders. The muscles in his calves spasm against the blinding stabbing pain in his legs, further irritating them. A pained gasp forces its way out. Larks frown blurs in-front of him.

“Row, get over here now!” Lark yells over his shoulder before turning back. "Easy Nick. Breathe." Nick immediately tries to inhale, breath stuttering into his lungs. Not enough. He throws his head back in a desperate attempt of opening his airway but his throat constricts impossibly tighter. The back of his skull hits the brick behind him and for a moment he can think in a straight line.

Nick gasps, reaching for his throat while slamming his head back against the wall, once, twice, and on the third time he hits flesh. Vaguely he recognizes that a hand had filled the gap between his head and the wall. Nick grabs the collar of his own shirt and pulls. Maybe it would trick his body into thinking he could breathe.

Larks face comes back into his blurry vision, mouth moving without sound. Nick tried to focus on his lips frantically trying to understand what he was saying. He shakes his head in frustration, groans and meets Larks eyes. They were stern and steady, holding his attention. Just behind Lark, is a Sparrow shaped blob kneeling at his feet.

As he notices Sparrow, a sharp, twisting pain shot through his chest, down to his legs and back up again like the worlds shittiest pinball machine. Nick groans and pitches forward, hands falling from his collar to brace himself against the man in front of him.

A rush of air hits Nick as he is shifted around. The world tilts around him so he squeezes his eyes shut. Moments later a piece of plastic is forced between his blue tinged, gasping lips. "Mi Amour, breathe." Directs Lark, voice deeper, quieter than before. Involuntarily, Nick gasps for another breath, his inhaler sprays medicine into his throat. The mouthpiece is ripped from his mouth and is immediately replaced with a hand covering his mouth and nose. "Easy. Hold it. Relax" Instructs Lark in his ear. Larks hand stays smothering him for a few seconds until Nick pulls at his wrist.

Nick let's out a short exhale before gasping in air again, again, again. Lark shoves the inhaler in his mouth once more and decompresses it. This time, Nick can hold his breath for longer, silently begging his lungs to accept the medicine. Lark must decide he doesn't need smothered again, because his right hand remains gripping the inhaler, with the other pressed against Nicks chest right above his heart.

The pain in his legs ebbs out of existence, and with it goes the tightness in his chest. Only when Nick can think about things other than breathing does he notice they are on the ground. Nick sits between Larks legs, his back against his chest. Lark is rocking them slightly, humming an old lullaby, his grip on Nick never wavers. Nick leans he had back against Larks shoulder before muttering an apology about the sweat.

Sparrow clears his throat in the doorway, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to use an inhaler in an emergency." Nick smiles weakly, collapsing even further into Lark. Lark flips Sparrow the bird who just chuckles at the two. “Maybe next time don’t jump out a second floor window without being prepared for impact, okay Nick?” Nick hums in agreement. He doesn’t have the energy to say that he hadn’t had a choice. He was too spent to open a portal to Hell and the acolyte was going right for him.

“Save it for the debrief, Sparrow.” Chides Lark, brushing Nicks hair back from where it was stuck to his forehead. “We’re gonna need a long rest after that fight.”

Things these past few weeks have been...not good. I have not had the emotional or physical energy to be as present as I normally am. And I think I should explain myself:

I have two broken ribs. One from an asshole ex. The other from a goat.

My grandpa died

Work has been extremely stressful

My dad has been getting drunk and saying incredibly hurtful things to me

I have 6 major assignments due soon and z e r o time to do them

And that brings me to last night's events:

I had two stress-induced asthma attacks last night. One was a yellow zone. The other was a red zone in which I completely passed out and had to be taken by an ambulance to the hospital, where I currently am now.

People who may want to know: