lack of breath - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Shortage of breath is the first sign. I'm breathing but the air just won't go in, like my lungs are surrounded by metal bands. Next comes the rising panic, the dizzy feeling and the need to get low to the ground. When I wake it's all over, the world has moved on around me. A girl on the side of the street is nothing here, just another body to step over. Then I get up as if I'd just taken a nap on the concrete like the tramps.
I felt as if my lungs were slowly filling with water, as if there was just less space in them for the air. Inflating them felt like pushing up a lead weight on my chest. I sucked in the air as if it were treacle, yet I was standing in a rose garden on a pristine winter's day. If the birds around me could sing and fly, why couldn't I breathe? Why was it so hard?
Can you feel it? The crisp, cold and sharp, water filling your lungs. Your eyesight going blurry, and you desperate arms flailing for something to clutch to, to save you from this horrible fate.
All around you, clean but dark. Looking down, seeing the deep ocean.
You start to go limp, crashing around at the surface tiring you quickly, and you start to lose yourself.
Your eyes close, images of your life faintly seen in your eyelids, before you feel yourself being dragged down, by the ocean. You can feel the water surrounding you in a cold embrace, and a rush of fear shoots through your body, your brain panicking for air, just for air.
But, you have no will to fight it any longer.
You let the ocean take you, and keep you.
"It's really something that you never get used to," I think as I enter through the creaky door. I could feel the cold and slimy fingers just crawling up my spine and squeezing my neck with all the strength they had. Fear. It's so human...
Huan doubled over. A punch in the gut will do that. Knock the wind right out of you. That lack of breath will keep you incapacitated for a time. Huan had no choice but to fight to re-inflate his lungs while the pick-pocket gang took the lot. His passport, money, gold watch and laptop. Since he was keeled over they also look his soft brown leather loafers.
As I descended deeper within the cave, I could only help but gasp for fresh air I longed for above the surface. The air thick with moisture. Sweat lingering in the air. The walls closing in. The darkness was overwhelming. It felt suffocating.
A man in a white coat leans forward toward an old woman, her eyes popping and pigeon chest heaving like there isn't enough air in the room. He speaks loud enough for half the hospital to hear, "Are you short of breath, Mrs Olsen, SHORT OF BREATH?" The old dear makes no reply but a pleading glance and he gestures to the nurse to take her oxygen stats.
I'm out of breath when I'm walking, talking or even thinking of doing either. With every movement there's a wheeze like air escaping from a deflating balloon. Every step feels like walking in quick sand, my feet as heavy as bags of potatoes. Tomorrow I get the oxygen canister to wheel around with me like I've got one foot in the grave, and to be honest I can't wait. I finally won't feel like I'm drowning in the air.
The signs and symptoms of asthma are so common. With the city air so polluted we're born into a life of breathing difficulties. No-one takes it seriously until you're almost dead and then for most it's too late. They should be pumping bronchiole dilators into the air conditioning of every public building, in fact, I'm surprised they don't.
The patients come in asking for the reasons for their breathlessness, they might as well throw a dart at the wall, pick a number, make something up. We just don't have the diagnostics anymore. Most likely it's the pollution, but if I prescribe them country air you should see the scathing looks I get. So it's a few pills and a sympathetic face, some chemicals to mask the symptoms instead of find the root cause.
There is a tightness in my throat. My lungs feel as elastic as old underpants, just sagging instead of contracting for the next breath. I need oxygen but this city smog tastes like death in a cocktail, no morello cherry or paper umbrella.
The exertion brings on more breathlessness, like the air around me is devoid of oxygen. My ribs heave up and down but no benefit comes. Dizziness. I slump to the damp concrete until I feel like my body has come back to normal, sickness passing.
Every night I can't breathe right, my breath is so short, like my muscles are ready to give up the fight. The darkness closes in and all I can do is hang on until the dawn. Maybe it's the coldness, maybe I'm just plain scared of the dark like a great big baby. I don't know. All I know is that night robs my ability to breathe just like it robs away the daylight.