About five weeks into my time on the respirator, I had a really bad night. I don't remember what the setting was on the respirator. It must have been about four -- one breath every fifteen seconds. And after going all day at this impossible setting, I was going to be expected to do the night as well. At lights out, 10:00 pm, I was already tired. This was the first night I would be going at such a low setting.

After two hours or so, I felt I'd reached my limit. My strength was spent. I had nothing left to give. I puffed my cheek, squeezed air between my cheek and gum and out came my now too familiar 'squawk' calling the nurse. No response. I did it again louder and the nurse slowly walked into my dark room and asked me what I needed. I mouthed 'R.T.' She turned around and left and soon after the R.T., a strong looking man in his 30’s, walked in.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

'I can't breathe.' I mouthed. 'Amboo. Amboo.' The amboo bag is a football shaped item with an 'L' shaped tube coming out of one end which connects to a trache or intubation tube that enables someone to manually push air into failing or helpless lungs. They didn't have the authority to change the setting on the respirator. But what's to prevent them from doing what they could to aid a patient in distress?

"I don't understand you. I can't read lips." He wasn't or didn't seem to be very sympathetic.

I kept repeating 'Amboo! Amboo!' and fixed my eyes on the blue colored bag on top of the cabinet. I remember thinking how difficult could it be to read such an easy two syllable word? Was he purposely feigning ignorance to get me to do my work? I was getting very stressed which was not helping my weakened state of being.

He told me that he was going to see if someone else could understand me and left the room. Shortly thereafter he and the nurse walked in. She asked as they both looked down at me, "What is it you need?"

As slowly and clearly as I could I mouthed, 'Amboo.'

"I think he's saying amboo," she said quite simply. "Is that what you want?" My eyes lit up like fireworks and they began looking around the room. There seemed to be no sense of urgency on their part. They just casually looked here and there. I made my duck noise and when they looked at me I eyed the blue bag.

The R.T. reached up and brought the bag down and pulled a chair up beside my bed. He then slowly disconnected my respirator tube, connected the amboo bag and began squeezing the football shaped bladder. At least, I think he was. I couldn't tell. I don't know if he'd ever used an Amboo bag before. If he did, I'd be surprised if the patient survived. I didn't feel any extra air going in my lungs. I still felt short of breath. This must be what an asthma patient feels while having an attack. They truly have gained all my respect.

He assisted me for quite a while. He eventually reconnected the respirator and I somehow made it through the night. I told my doctor the next morning that I wasn't feeling well and that I needed a day off. "You want to take a break now after coming so far?" He wasn't very happy about it. He had my R.T. suction me and the secretions came out green. That meant only one thing. Pneumonia. "No wonder you feel weak." The doctor set the respirator back to eight bpm and left me alone for a couple of days.