There was little in my stomach and what was there was trying to come up. Warm hands grasped my shoulders.
"Deep breaths. You're okay," Brack said with quiet authority.
I tried to inhale. There was no air. And he lied. Nothing would ever be okay again.
Dead.
I struggled to get out of bed while mumbling, "Toilet, I- please."
An ugly plastic, curved, pink hospital bowl appeared under my chin as I heaved. It did little good; nothing came up and I couldn't catch my breath.
"Breathe in through your nose and hold it as I countone- two- three." Brack's commanding voice penetrated my thoughts. He sounded like he spoke through a funnel. Something in his instructions had me paying attention and doing what he said.
"Now out through your mouthone- two- three."
It took several minutes for the roar to fade to a small whoosh. The heat from one of his hands rested against the base of my neck. Then I felt his fingers in my hair tilting my head back.
"You're okay. You suffer these often?"
