Breathe

Helena Ducusin
Aug 31, 2018 · 2 min read

It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning. The post-summer sun shines through the blinds, forming lines across the bedspread. My hair’s in my face, my vision is blurry, and my alarm is blaring halfway across the room. I brush back my hair, blink my eyes a few times, and sit up. I start to move to turn off my alarm, but then I feel it: a tickle in my throat and the slightest difficulty in breathing. A deep breath in confirms my suspicion. I’m sick.

One of the worst feelings in the world is realizing that overnight, my body has succumbed to the disgraceful inconvenience that is the common cold. Seven hours of rest, and suddenly I am no longer the perfect embodiment of health. Instead, my nose is congested, my throat is scratchy, and I find myself sneezing every 7 minutes. It’s unusual to consider breathing a daily privilege, but the second I exhibit symptoms of a cold, I long for the opportunity to simply inhale and utilize my full lung capacity as I did just seven hours before.

I experience similar sensations when running a cross country or track race. I discovered I had asthma in the fifth grade, and was prescribed an inhaler that would supposedly help me breathe normally. I continued to run despite the fact that during races, my lungs seemed to be collapsing in on themselves. Perhaps they were taking after my legs, panicking when they discovered I was, yet again, running a 5k at speeds they were not quite fond of.

I spend nearly every moment of every day breathing. Unless I am consciously made aware of it, I don’t notice it. My lungs manage to function normally, circulating oxygen to allow me to go about my daily life as I choose. Not until I find myself unable to breathe do I recognize the privilege of fully functioning lungs.

The same can be said about a multitude of things in life. We don’t miss our own bed until we can’t sleep in it every night. We don’t notice how often we use our right hand until it’s in a cast. We don’t realize how much we love our favorite pair of shoes until they don’t fit anymore. We don’t appreciate our parents buying groceries until we’re left to do it on our own. We don’t miss hugging our loved ones until they’re halfway across the world. We don’t value our lungs until they can’t breathe.

Helena Ducusin

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Putting thought to paper and hoping it’ll be coherent.