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The burning sensation at the back of my throat is all too familiar, and it’s been a near constant ever since I exposed myself to Rocky’s atmosphere. I faintly remember my asthma being pretty bad when I was a kid, but the regular cardio of riding my bike and taking daily medication made it almost unnoticeable in adulthood. Unfortunately for me, I ran out of my daily medicine a few months ago, and breathing in super-heated ammonia didn’t do wonders for my lungs. The burning gets a little worse when I breathe in deeply, and my ribcage protests against expanding too far.
As uncomfortable as it is sometimes, I’m not too worried about it. I don’t do much exercise since I’m trying to conserve my calories for the long trip to Erid, and there’s not enough open space on the ship for me to be running anywhere. The ship is basically an anaerobic environment too, so I don’t have to worry about environmental triggers like pollen, mold, or the changing of seasons.
Well, I'm not entirely free from encountering environmental triggers. There aren't any insects on the Hail Mary, so I have to pollinate the few plants that are still surviving myself. Luckily they didn't really start flowering until recently, but it's a tedious and frustrating process. Not like I have much else to do out here.
One of the plants is flowering quite nicely, and it's time for me to pollinate it so it can keep growing. I'll need all the fruits I can get once my food supplies start running low. I lean over the planter, armed with a q-tip and a tiny paintbrush. Basically, all I have to do is pick up the pollen from one flower and put it in another. Sounds easy enough, but flowers are so fragile and I don't quite have the dexterity of a tiny bumblebee or fruit bat.
“Alright, let's do this,” I mutter to myself, holding the flower steady with one hand while the other gently pokes at the anther with the paintbrush. The little pistil it's on the end of is so delicate, and I can't press hard enough to pick up any pollen without damaging it.
I switch to the q-tip, grumbling as I try and roll it around in the pollen. It comes away perfectly clean.
“Come on,”I groan, setting my tools down and leaning back in frustration. Isn't there an easier way I can do this?
I chew on a fingernail as I ponder, and then an idea comes to me. Gently, I bend the stems and maneuver the flower so it's positioned upside down above another flower. I crouch down, tilting my head and leaning in close to get a good angle. If I can just…
I tap the flower gently with my finger once, twice, three times, and a small cloud of yellow pollen falls out, directly into the other flower.
And my face, unfortunately.
I don't have time to celebrate my success before I'm rearing back, coughing and sneezing as I wave my hand in front of my face. I stand up and brush the yellow powder off myself, but I definitely breathed some of it in.
The burning sensation in my lungs is worse now, spreading up into my sinuses and all the way down into my lungs. My breaths are speeding up, coming shallower, and there’s more resistance. It feels like my lungs are being squeezed, like I have to fight against them to get the air in. I double over, bracing my arms on a table. I taste something metallic as a steady stream of thin mucus makes its way up my throat into my mouth. I swallow it down but I’m gasping for air, panting like I just ran a marathon.
I try to calm myself down, forcing my breaths slower and deeper. I'm not allergic to this plant in particular, but it's been years since I've been exposed to pollen of any kind. There isn't any actually in my airways, but it certainly feels like it.
I try and take one slow, deep breath but my lungs won't fill all the way. It feels like there are shards of glass in the back of my throat, like there’s a boa constrictor wrapping around my ribcage and squeezing. I push the breath out and I’m right back to panting. Panic claws its way to the front of my mind. I can’t remember what to do, it’s been so long since it’s been this bad, and I can’t think straight because I can’t freaking breathe!
There’s a little scrape-y itch at the back of my throat, like something’s caught there, so I cough to try and dislodge it. The cough is dry and violent, tearing its way out of my chest and scraping up my trachea. I cough once, twice, then try to draw a breath in but I can’t, my lungs spasming again and again until there’s no more air left in my lungs and I literally can’t cough anymore. I gasp and it hurts like hell, but I force the air back out slowly, breath quivering as I resist the urge to cough again. The itch is still there, but I’m afraid if I give in to it again I won’t be able to stop. My lungs feel like they’re shaking with the effort of holding back, and my chest just keeps getting tighter.
I’m white-knuckling the table at this point, my vision darkening around the edges and panic spiking down my spine. What do I do? Distantly, I can hear Rocky clattering around somewhere. Last I saw him, he was in his atmosphere tinkering with something, so he’s probably getting into his ball right now to come to me. I know he can hear me, and the abnormal breathing pattern combined with my visible distress is bound to worry him. I’m worried myself. Actually, I’m freaking out right now, the lack of oxygen making my brain go fuzzy and the more primal part of my mind screaming a constant “can’t breathe can’t breathe help help help” that’s hard not to give in to.
I grit my teeth and try to remember anything I can about how to handle this. Surely they packed some kind of rescue medication, right? Do I remember what it’s called?
“Armando,” I wheeze, my voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. The robot arms have noticed my distress by this point, but they’re just sort of hovering around me anxiously.
“Do you have…” I pause, panting for a few seconds, “Uh… albuterol? An inhaler, something…” My voice gives out.
I hear the servos in the robot arms whirr as they move, but I don’t lift my head to follow. The itch in my throat is back and I’m shaking with the effort of resisting it, my lungs twitching from half-aborted coughs. I can tell there’s not much time left until I’m past the point of no return.
The arms return with a little red inhaler, and I clutch it tightly in my fist. I push myself upright to take the medicine, but it’s too late. The coughing fit returns, and I double over with the force of it. It hurts, so much, but there’s nothing I can do. I try and stop it, take a deep breath, but my lungs keep squeezing and squeezing until I’ve coughed all my air out, and then I gasp a little air back in and the cycle repeats. I fall to my knees, and I drop the inhaler to brace myself on one arm. I’m still coughing into my elbow, but it's only out of muscle memory at this point.
It feels like I’m dying. The coughing is so violent, so painful and uncontrollable that I’m convinced I might actually cough up a lung. I can’t breathe at all except for the little moments when there’s no more air left in my lungs to be pushed out so I’m allowed a little half-gasp to repeat the vicious cycle. Rocky has reached me but I barely register he’s there. His ball is bumping up against my arm and he’s warbling a nervous high-pitched tune. I reach out to try and reassure him but I can’t speak, and my hand just glances off one of the faces of xenonite.
I can feel my body getting tired, all my muscles burning from the effort as my lungs continue to try and expel a foreign body that isn’t there. My abs are cramping, I’m crying, and every few coughs ends in a gag from the sheer force of it. I’m choking on nothing, and I almost wish I would just pass out already so it would stop. Unfortunately, I’m getting just enough oxygen to stay conscious.
After what feels like forever but is probably only a minute or two of this cycle the coughing slows, then finally lets up and I fall forward onto both hands. My throat feels like I’ve been swallowing razor blades, and I’m crying and sweating and still panting, but I can at least take semi-normal breaths. I try and pull in a deeper breath but my chest is still too tight, and I remember the inhaler that’s been discarded on the floor beside me.
I ignore Rocky’s panicked chirps for now and I reach for it, only remembering once I have the device in my hand that I’ll need to hold my breath to take it. I rely on my muscle memory to remember the exact process, sitting back on my knees as I shake the inhaler and remove the cap. I push all the air out of my lungs (which isn’t very hard to do) and wrap my lips around the mouthpiece. I push the top down as I take a deep breath in, and I hear the wshhh of the aerosol dispensing and feel the mostly flavorless mist spray into my mouth. I drop the inhaler and focus on holding my breath as I count to 10. It burns, unbearably so, and I clench a fist and pound on my thigh to try and distract myself.
After what's definitely not quite 10 seconds, I let my breath out, my breathing slowing down as I feel the medicine work in real time. My lungs relax and my chest opens a little, and breathing comes easily enough for me to speak again.
“Sorry,” I gasp, turning my attention to Rocky. My voice is raspy and breathier than usual, like I've been smoking a pack a day for the past 15 years.
“Grace!” He practically shrieks, voice drowning out the translator, “Okay, question? Why breathing change, question?”
“I’m okay now,” I say, pressing my forehead up against the xenonite ball. “Actually, one second.” I take another puff of the inhaler. I feel even better after that, the recycled air cool and soothing on my horribly inflamed lungs.
“It was an asthma attack,” I explain. “You remember how I told you about my lung condition? The pollen aggravated it. Here,” I tap against my sternum, “Listen here. My lungs and bronchial tubes. What do you hear?”
Rocky clicks a few times before responding. “Sounds more… need word. More blood flow, makes tissue expand. Tubes are smaller, tighter.”
“Inflamed,” I supply. That sounds about right.
“More fluid too,” he adds. “Leaky leaky leaky.”
I laugh weakly, curling my body over his ball.
“What was spasming, question? Looked… distressing.”
“It was a bronchospasm,” I explain. “It’s like hiccups, but instead of my diaphragm spasming it’s, well, my bronchioles. It makes me cough. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one so bad,” I admit.
“Bad bad bad,” Rocky agrees. “Grace was in pain, not responding. Could not fix. Scary scary scary.”
“Aw, buddy,” I say, hugging him a little tighter. “It was scary for me too. I’ll keep the inhaler in my pocket from now on, just in case this happens again.”
“Good good good. Will listen more closely to Grace breathing, too. Be there quicker if happens again. Working on close-fitting xenonite suit, like Grace EVA suit, soon will be able to do plant pollination so Grace will not have to.”
“Really?!” I try and exclaim, but the excitement makes something twinge deep in my chest and I cough again. I panic for half a second, but it's under control this time and I recover immediately.
“Grace!” Rocky shouts, pressing his carapace up to where I'm draped over the ball. “Bad bad bad! Calm! No more spasm!”
“I'm okay, I'm okay,” I reassure him, and I really am. My whole abdomen is sore and emotionally I feel like I've been run over by an eighteen-wheeler, but the medicine is doing its job.
I'm excited for Rocky's new suit, even though I know he's only making it for practicality. His full range of motion will allow him to move around my side of the ship easier, access the controls and, of course, rescue me when I have a medical emergency. The amount of times Rocky's had to step in and save me because my body failed makes me feel a little helpless and weak sometimes, but then I remember the hysterical strength that had possessed me when the roles were reversed and I feel better about it.
Selfishly, a part of me is glad Rocky's making a better suit just so we can be closer. Watching him maneuver the ball through the ship's tight hallways is funny, but I can't wait until we can hug for real, grab onto each other and coexist seamlessly. We'll never be able to get as close to each other as I want, but maybe when the suit is done Rocky can curl up in my lap and it'll almost be enough.
My world tilts as Rocky effortlessly tilts the ball so I slide off onto my knees, and Armando pushes a bag of water in my face.
“Drink, drink” Rocky urges, and I do. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. The water soothes my sore throat as I greedily drink it down.
“Thanks,” I say to both Rocky and Armando.
“Sound much better!” Rocky chirps. “Before, voice sounded…” he shudders. “Understand why human mouth needs fluid. Leak is disgust, but without enough leak sounds are very unpleasant.”
“Hey!” I exclaim, feigning offense. “Sorry I didn't sound pleasant enough for you while I was having a medical emergency!”
“Next time do not have medical emergency, will not have problem,” Rocky replies. “Is easy.”
I roll my eyes, but secretly I'm glad we're both feeling good enough to bicker. I know Rocky worries about me, about how fragile I am compared to him.
I press my side against his ball and he presses back from the inside. I hope I never have to go through something like this again, but that's unreasonable. At least the next time my body fails, I know I'll be in good hands.