“Granny, you want me to get your machine under the bed? Want me to get it out for you?”

I cough so hard that all this mucus comes up and when I try to sit up it feels like my neck and chest and ribs is being pulled like rubber bands. I don’t wanna scare my granddaughter, but my chest is hurting again. Now my nostrils is flaring out, ’cause when I try to inhale ain’t hardly no air coming in. I open my mouth and try to take little sips, ’cause it’s all I can do. But now it feels like somebody got a straw down my throat blowing a tiny tunnel of air. This ain’t enough. I’m trying not to move, trying not to cry, but now I’m scared. Please hurry up and get here. Please, God, let ’em hurry up and get here. Be still, Viola. Keep your big ass still. One. Two. Three. Buckle my shoe. Four. Five. Six. Shut the door. Seven. Eight. Nine. Pick up sticks.

I hear the sirens coming up the block and I close my eyes and wait to hear that loud knock on the front door and I say thank you Jesus to myself. Poor Shanice, she been standing in that doorway watching me and watching the front door, then she disappears and I hear her open it.

“Where’s your grandmother, honey?”

“In there!” Poor thang. She don’t need to be here. She don’t need to see me like this. Somebody get her outta here. Please. Two paramedics come through the door and I hear the sound of the gurney popping open and then one comes over to me with his bag and look at me sitting here with my head down in my lap, rocking. “How you doing, ma’am?” this one say grabbing that thing out his bag and clipping it to the end of my finger.

I nod my head up and down and say, “I’m fine.”

“That’s good. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you fixed right up here.”

I try to grab onto the sheets and at the same time he tries to open my gown up and I grab his hand and he press that cold thing against my chest and say, “Try to calm down for a second, ma’am. I need you to take a deep breath for me.”

But I can’t.

“Come on. Let’s try once more.”

I try again, but don’t know if I do it or not.

“I’ve got wheezing in all fields!” he says.

I hear the other guy say, “Her respiratory rate is over 33. Can you try to relax, ma’am? We need you to slow your breathing down.”

If I could I would, don’t he know that? But I can’t. Just hurry up and give me something! Look at my eyes, goddamnit!

“I’m gonna put you on some oxygen now and this should help you breathe easier,” he says. The next thing I know that mask is covering my nose and mouth and for a minute I feel relieved.