Breathing Through Crisis: The Night I Faced My Fears Through Pneumonia

By Trish Briggs

Recently, I found that even in illness, there is room to face our fears.

I still have lingering effects from a severe case of bronchitis and pneumonia. During the height of the illness, I experienced what I now refer to as the “dark night of my soul.” I was fortunate—it lasted only two very long days and nights. Of course, the darkest moments happen at night, when the house is quiet, no one is around, and you are alone with your thoughts and fears.

I was having trouble breathing from extreme coughing spasms and thick mucus draining from my sinuses into my lungs. Luckily, I was already on antibiotics. Still, I feared that I might end up in the hospital, possibly on a ventilator. My ears had plugged up, and all I could hear was my own ragged breathing, coughing, and mucus moving in my upper chest.

I was afraid to lie down. I sat upright in a living room chair, checking my pulse ox repeatedly to reassure myself I was getting enough oxygen—even though it didn’t feel that way. The numbers told me I was okay, even when my body and mind said otherwise.

As I sat alone, different things Leila had said to me floated through my mind. She had just recovered from the same bronchitis/pneumonia combination, and she mentioned the illness seemed to carry an illusionary or intrusive thought quality—making you feel worse than you truly were.

My first breakthrough came when I acknowledged that this was true. As a retired nurse, I trusted what the pulse ox number meant. I began to realize I wasn’t an objective judge of my own body’s state—my fear clouded my judgment.

At the time, I was also afraid to sleep, worried I’d wake up with mucus blocking my throat and be unable to cough it out. I knew I was exhausting myself, and that could turn into a breathing crisis. My breathing was stable, but I understood how fast that could change.

I had to face myself and my fear.

Why was I doing this? What was I afraid of?

I feared not being able to breathe. That fear had been with me ever since I broke my neck and underwent surgery, which left me with a paralyzed vocal cord. I’d gone through rehab to relearn how to breathe, speak, and swallow. I still had lingering difficulty with swallowing and speaking. Over time, this developed into a fear of even head colds—because with only half an airway, any inflammation felt dangerous. And now I was experiencing both.

But I realized my fear was making everything worse. I worked hard to understand my fear, honor it; but not let it rule me. My mind began to clear. I stopped obsessing over my breathing and began thinking practically. I prayed and focused on letting go of fear.

And then, a calm settled over me. My pulse ox was steady. I stopped checking it. I knew I was going to be alright.

My breathing settled. I was still coughing, still clearing mucus, but the fear was gone. The crisis had passed. I lay down in bed and allowed myself to rest.

As I began to heal, I recalled something Leila shared with me years ago. Mother Mary had told her that there would be a severe illness I would go through. Mother Mary said I would live if I could move past my trauma. I never quite knew what trauma Mother Mary was referring to. I had done so much work on myself already.

But now, I knew. I felt in my heart that this was the trauma Mother Mary was referring to. And I knew the outcome could have been very different had I not stopped to face myself during those two long nights.