Chapter 8

I rose from the family room suite to clear an ache which was
developing in my left calf, and a slight sensation of pins and
needles along my inner forearm. The hours before had seen violent
vomiting as wicked as I had known, leaving my body wet and
trembling. I felt disgusting.
"What's wrong?" inquired Dale, who noticed the distraught look on my face.
"I don't know," I replied.
"I feel weird."
My chest was heaving.
The strength of the pins and needles was increasing
dramatically, as 1circled the billiard table and tried to take control
of my breathing. 1 had no idea that I was hyperventilating, and
even if 1 had known, 1 would not have realised that my body’s
response to the difficulty was actually compounding the problem.
"Get Mum or Dad," I pleaded to Dale, as I drew deep prolonged
breaths. Hunched over the table 1started to get really scared.
"I can't take any more of this, it's getting worse, you'd better
get the doctor ...No, get an ambulance!"
I was in real trouble. My immediate reaction was to think that
something was terribly wrong. That my time had come. I had
crumpled to the floor when Dad arrived a few seconds later with
the answer.
A paper bag was held over my mouth, and within a dozen
inhalations, the effects began to subside.
"I can't take any more of this!" I repeated.
"I just can't take any more drugs. I've had enough."
I sank deeply into a chair and almost into defeat. Only after
attention from my parents, did I recover my lost
composure. So much inner tension had been released. I was
thankful that Dad had known the paper bag routine.
But I was almost convinced that another bout of treatment
was out of the question.