By the time
Monique arrives
and realized
this is more serious
than she expected,
I am choking
on the salt of
my tears.
She begs
over the walkie talkie
for a wheelchair
and my
emergency inhaler,
and
when she
finally
has some
admin lady help her
pull me into
the chair,
I get so woozy
because
I am severely
oxygen
deprived.
I feel floppy
but also stiff
because I
still can't move
my own body.

Monique and
admin lady
turn me
over
onto my back.
Monique lifts me
underneath my
arms
while the
admin lady
picks me up
under the knees.
They're pros.
I wonder
how many students
they have to
pick up like this
to make them
such experts.
They gingerly place me
in the
wheelchair
as a student
comes out of a
nearby classroom.
I want to look away
from this
awkward situation,
but with the way the
chair is facing,
we get a full
two seconds of
extra awkward
eye contact.
Recognition
lights in his
eyes,
and I pretend
I don't see it
or vaguely remember
having some class
with him
in middle school,
before
the diagnosis.

Monique starts
pushing me
as admin lady
announces over
her walkie that
I'm secure.
She doesn't use
my name,
of course,
because that would
probably be
illegal
for privacy reasons.
I hear her voice
echo nearby,
through the crunch of
radio waves
trying to travel,
so another
authority figure
must be close.

I'm pretty
out of it
and don't really
process much
for the next
who knows how long.