13 - A Simple Sip of Water / NO NONSENSE


13 – A Simple Sip of Water / NO NONSENSE

July 23, 2018

Monday evening.  I’d been home from the hospital since Friday.  I’d been released with a definitive diagnosis of Myasthenia Gravis, MUSK Positive.   I was tethered to an oxygen tank, using a BiPap at night.  But I was definitely feeling better.  I was breathing easier – a lot less gasping for air, and I was definitely sleeping better!  I figured the wild roller coaster ride was slowing now, maybe it was finally under control.

I needed help with EVERYTHING, though.   David was reluctant to leave me alone.  When he went to visit his mother or go to the store, we had a couple of neighbor friends who offered to hang out with me.  My daughters both said they would come and stay any time, but they live over an hour’s drive away, plus they have families, jobs, children – and I did not want to disrupt their lives so much.  Then my friend Aliza called.  She had some vacation time, and she’d talked about coming South just to look around, thinking about relocating.  We’d told her for years to come on down and stay a while.  This seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.  She could stay here, help out with me, and explore the area. 

Aliza arrived Monday afternoon, along with her cat Maggie.  David cooked us a delicious dinner:  roasted chicken, baked sweet potato, roasted Brussels sprouts, ice cream sundaes for dessert.  After dinner, David helped Aliza bring some of her belongings in the house. 

I was in my usual “nest” on the sofa in the living room, my oxygen line connected to a concentrator across the room.  David and Aliza were chatting in the kitchen.  I picked up my cup of water and took a sip.

I knew the instant the water hit the back of my throat that I was in serious trouble.  I felt it burn as it entered my lungs instead of my esophagus. 

I choked.  I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.  I smacked my hand on the end table twice to attract David’s attention, and I got on the floor (rather than fall).  David and Aliza both ran right over to me.  He wanted to know what I had choked on – I couldn’t speak but pointed to my water bottle.  He began pounding my back trying to force a cough to clear my lungs.  It didn’t work. I did not have enough diaphragm muscle strength to muster a cough. He pounded harder, I was clutching at my throat, gagging and choking but unable to get air.  “ALIZA CALL 911!” he yelled.  She grabbed the phone and I heard her give the address.

David kept working on me.  He pounded my back.  He picked me up like a rag doll and tried the Heimlich maneuver.  He rolled me onto my side. I was struggling, trying to catch air, trying to cough – but couldn’t.  I couldn’t make a sound other than an awful gasping noise when I tried to suck in air.  I couldn’t breathe.  I was literally choking to death on a simple sip of water.  Twice, I felt like just giving up.  I was done.  I closed my eyes and felt myself go limp for an instant and suddenly David was in my face yelling, “DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES. DO NOT LEAVE ME. YOU ARE GOING TO BE OKAY. DO NOT LEAVE LIKE THIS.”   I would open my eyes, try to find his face and continue the fight. 

There is no doubt in my mind that David saved my life that night through his quick and continued action.  Aliza has confirmed this; she said it took almost 20 minutes before the ambulance arrived and he spent the entire time working on me, talking to me.

The roller coaster had crashed and burned, and dumped me in a heap on my living room floor. 




Much about the evening is fuzzy for me.  I vaguely realized that there seemed to be a lot of people in my house, none that I recognized.  The call had gone out on the scanner, so there were a few emergency volunteers who arrived before the paramedics.  Somebody moved the furniture around to make room for the stretcher.  I remember being lifted onto the stretcher.  Someone put my Bipap mask on my face to try to force air into my lungs.  My chest ached and burned. I still couldn’t cough. I felt myself being loaded into the back of the ambulance.  Again.  The third time in less than thirty days.  My son (who is a paramedic) would call me a “frequent flyer” at this rate.

A few miles from home I began to come around. I could hear the paramedic calling my name, saying “Stay with me, Miss Anita, you’re going to be all right.” I realized I had been hearing him talking calmly to me ever since I’d been in the ambulance.  Eventually I opened my eyes and stared ahead.  My eyes focused, the words “NO NONSENSE” came into view, printed across the toes of my socks.

NO NONSENSE indeed.  I felt about as low as I have ever felt in my life.

Just thinking…. I could count on one hand how many cigarettes I’d ever tried to smoke (3).  At the time I tried them, I decided I’d get the same effect licking out an ashtray so I never developed the habit.  I never messed with recreational drugs.  I was 38 years old the first time I ever tasted alcohol; to this day I can take it or leave it.  If I have one drink a month, that’s probably calling it a stretch.  So here was all this “clean living” – and now I nearly choke to death on a simple sip of water, courtesy of Myasthenia Gravis. 

I wanted to cry, but couldn’t – not enough lung capacity to support crying and breathing both.  I felt so completely undone. Utterly dejected.  Was this how my life was going to be, from now on?  Afraid to even take a sip of water or swallow a morsel of food?

David arrived at the hospital ahead of the ambulance.  He was waiting in the ambulance bay with the respiratory therapist we met in our earlier two visits. I looked into his eyes as the doors opened; a look of relief washed over his face when he saw I was okay.  He followed as they rolled my stretcher into the Emergency Room.  A couple of doctors examined me, ordered an x-ray to check for the water I had aspirated into my lungs, and they monitored my vitals. I remained on the BiPap machine most of the time, just to keep some air pushed into my lungs.

A sinking feeling overwhelmed me, I felt like I was sliding away. Discouraged, disheartened, now afraid to even take a drink of water.    I know we are “not promised tomorrow.”  But my family tends to live into their 90’s – I’ve been figuring that I have maybe 30 more good years left.  But do I?  Maybe not.  Maybe I need to think about tying up loose ends, finishing projects, getting my affairs in order.  Would my grandsons even remember me at all?  The future began to look really grim, bleak, just …. not there.  Depressed doesn’t really begin to cover how I felt at that moment.  Hopelessness washed over me.  


I suddenly remembered Aliza was at my house – she had just driven two days, only to witness the most horrifying moment of my life.  I asked David for my phone, and I texted her:  “No extra charge for tonight’s floor show.”  I knew she knew me well enough to see my feeble attempt at humor as a sign that I was ok.       
I stayed in the ER for observation for several hours before they released me. 

As we checked out, the doctor reminded me again that I had a follow-up appointment scheduled with the hospital Neurologists on Wednesday.   We drove home in silence.  David helped me into the house.  Around 11:30 pm, he tucked me into bed, we were both exhausted.

I was still wearing my NO NONSENSE socks. 

***   ***   ***   ***   *** 
Untethered Time Travel:  NO NONSENSE

It is 2018 and I am 61 years old.  I’m lying on a stretcher looking up at the lights of a cubicle in the Emergency Room.

Yep.  I got nothing.  For the first time in my adult life, my coping mechanism is not working.  All I can think of is “NO NONSENSE,” the message across the toes of my socks.

But this FEELS like nonsense. I mean, I have tried to live a relatively healthy life.  Up until a month or so ago, the only health issue I had was asthma.  Folks in my age bracket are all dealing with high cholesterol, blood sugar issues, high blood pressure, arthritis.  Not me.  I just take my vitamins every day.   But suddenly my own body has turned on itself.  If that’s not NONSENSE, what is?

Then I get a little nudge inside my head.
 “Hey Anita -- It’s NO NONSENSE.” 

A scene from the old movie “It’s A Wonderful Life” filters into my thoughts.  Toward the end of the movie, the hero George Bailey (played by Jimmy Stewart) is in big trouble, contemplating ending his own life.  

The community of faith surrounding him -- his family, friends, and acquaintances --  all begin lifting his name in prayer.  The Universe hums with his name, being whispered aloft.

It dawns on me.  It’s FAITH.  Faith is the “NO NONSENSE” in this situation.


For weeks now, I’ve been the recipient of prayers from the community of faith, and now the impact of that washes over me.  I’ve received cards, notes, messages, and calls from friends far and near.  Nearly every day, the mail carrier delivers cheerful greetings to me.   Folks from my parents’ church -- Peachland Baptist, where I grew up -- sent notes and cards. I’ve heard from friends in SC, NC, NV, KY, CA, WA, OR, HI, PA, TN, NY, NJ, VA, FL, GA, OH, CO, IN, MD, KS, WI, ID….  My Lake Wateree Presbyterian Church family, and other Lake Wateree neighbors let me know they were thinking of me.   My mind stretches farther and I realized I have a huge group of friends and loved ones in Ghana praying for me.  Then there are folks in Kenya, Canada, Australia, Tasmania, and China who send me messages of encouragement and promises of prayers.


The Universe is humming with MY name, being raised aloft by the prayers of faithful friends all around the world.  What a beautiful, humbling thought. 

The sinking feeling abated.  I realized I had a Rock of Faith to stand upon. 

A dear friend sent me a link to the song "Confident" by Steffany Gretzinger. 
The words touched my very soul.
I invite you to listen: 


“I'm confident Your faithfulness will see me through
My soul can rest, my righteousness is found in You
With every moment left, in every borrowed breath, let this be true
That all my heart, for all my life, belongs to You.”

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