Why Are My Lungs on Fire?

Why Are My Lungs on Fire?

I was about 5 years old riding down the road with my dad, and sister. My dad had borrowed a car from a college student. I don’t remember exactly why we borrowed the car. But, we did. This college student, Pam, evidently was quite prepared for a potential attacker. This would become evident soon.

We were in a bit of a hurry. So, my dad was driving at a greater than normal speed. This becomes a factor later in the story. We were driving down this particular two lane road to the airport to pick up some preacher. I don’t know who. At this point, I spotted a small container. I evidently couldn’t read well. All I recognized was that the word began with a “P.” I can still see it today.

I reached for the container and picked it up. I interpreted the word that began with a “P” to be Perfume. Immediately, I recounted that my dad didn’t like strong perfume. This conclusion lead me to the next logical and near fatal action. In my mind I envisioned my dad getting a slight sniff of this perfume after I had sprayed it not on but just across his nose. This caused me to think that this would be an acceptable and funny thing to do. I was gravely mistaken.

I picked up what was, in fact, a can of mace, evidently with a brand name that started with a “P.” As we barreled down the road, I spayed the mace just in front of my dad’s nose. It was lights out for him. I don’t have to tell you what careening uncontrollably down a road in, now, an unmanned car will do to a 5 year-old. The only way I know to put it is that there was no longer any Hell left in me to scare out. My sister was stricken with the same fear.

Daddy somehow gained himself, not his sight yet, and blindly maneuvered the car off the road onto a primitive dirt road. Only God did that. He couldn’t see yet. He shoved the car door open, fell to the ground, and began to behave in a way that my 5 year-old eyes had yet seen. Christy and I thought he might be dying. Daddy managed to gain full control some time later. Evidently, he thought that my punishment was already sufficient.

Fast forward with me. Yesterday, I was given a mask. It was one of those biological weapons masks. I was ruck-sack marched out into the woods of Fort Jackson. There I, along with others, I was told in detail for about two hours exactly how I would behave while in a room filled with CS Gas. It is a tear gas.

I walked in with about 49 other people. I was fine at first. The mask did an excellent job. My neck and ears began to burn a little. I was then instructed to break the seal of the mask. I did so while holding my breath and closing my eyes. I then set the seal again. I pressed the release valve and blew out the gas that had gotten into my mask. My face and eyes began to burn at this point. But, I was fine. The next part was the rough patch.

The Sergeant told a group of us to remove our masks completely, open our eyes, say our names – social security numbers – ranks – class motto, and to breathe. I did not want to breathe. But, I couldn’t leave without doing it. I sucked in a bit of the air. That was a bad mistake. A funny thing happens when you breathe in gas like this. Your lungs say, “That wasn’t oxygen. Breathe again to give me oxygen.” So, I breathed again, a deeper breath. Guess what? You got it. I filled my lungs with CS Gas. Some of you might say, “Oh no, he shouldn’t have done that.” Thank you Captain Obvious. I figured it out pretty quick. I left the gas chamber a hot mess. My lungs were on fire. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t get a breath to save my life. It wasn’t from lack of trying. When I shot out the door like a loose cow running from a slaughterhouse, I was greeted by a Major. I couldn’t see him. But, I could hear him saying, “Flap your arms to get the gas out of your clothes. Open your eyes.” My all time personal favorite was that he kept saying, “Breathe!” If he hadn’t been a Major and I could have actually spoken. I would have told him exactly why I couldn’t breathe.

So many years later, I sensed the same pain my dad sensed the day I accidentally maced him. The moral of this: Teach your kids to read early.