The third day began much like the day before. Mom fed me breakfast, I'd had my bath, and I was just laying there wondering if surgery had been scheduled to realign my neck. Suddenly, something very unnatural began to come over me. My ability to breathe became a struggle. I found myself having to voluntarily inhale and it was becoming more and more difficult with each breath.

Finally I said, "Mom, I'm having trouble breathing."

She looked over and could see the panic in my eyes. "You want me you get the doctor?" she quickly asked. I said yes and she hurried out of the room.

I don't know how much time passed but the next thing I remember was the doctor was in the room with a long clear -- I don't know if you'd call it firm rubber or soft plastic -- but it was a hollow tube about a quarter inch in diameter. The doctor said, "Your lungs are failing. You will have to be intubated."

I didn't like the sound of that word or the looks of that tube but it was obvious I had no choice in the matter and time was of the essence. While a nurse held my head, the doctor applied this clear gel over the length of the tube and turned toward me and said, "Try to relax." He then set the tip of the tube at the opening of my right nostril and proceeded to push the plastic hose up my nose. This was every bit as uncomfortable as it sounds. And that's putting it politely.

After several long painful seconds, the 12" tube had reached my lungs and its proper place. The end that was sticking out of my nose was attached by a pair of larger flexible tubes to a respirator that had been wheeled into the room. This looked like a large cabinet with dials and buttons on the top panel and something I can only describe as an accordion in a beaker that moved up and down with every pulse of air. On the side of the glass were markings indicating the amount of air being pushed into my now paralyzed lungs.

My anxiety level leaped into overdrive and I was deeply concerned with what was happening to me. The worst of it was, this unwelcome tube in my aching nose had to pass through my throat and vocal chords to get to my lungs thus rendering me speechless, unable to speak a word. I was in agony. My ordinarily happily animated soul had gone from being on top of the world to becoming a prisoner in the pit in 3 days.

On one rare occasion that my father-in-law was sitting with me, I silently spoke, "If you loved me, you'd take this out." He didn't say a word. Looking back now, I hope he didn't understand me. It was cold and unfair for me to say and it shames me to write it. But I specifically remember it and it is an indication as to how much pain and sorrow I was enduring. The ever-present politeness I was raised to express was gone with my ability to talk. I'd reached a new low. How little I realized that there would be more even lower levels in which to sink in the next days, weeks, and months. My suffering had only just begun.