asth·ma
noun
Pathology . a paroxysmal, often allergic disorder of respiration,characterized by bronchospasm, wheezing, and difficulty inexpiration, often accompanied by coughing and a feeling ofconstriction in the chest.
I was officially diagnosed, or whatever word would be appropriate for the situation, with asthma on June 4, 2012. I had my first real asthma attack on May 31 five days before. I had had problems with asthma before that, but I had always waved it off as me being out of shape (which was also true). My first real asthma attack (May 31) happened at a dress rehearsal for ballroom. In all honesty, I had never been so terrified in my entire life. I didn't know what was happening. As far as I knew, I was about to die. When my vision started going black... I wanted to close my eyes so bad but I was so scared to see what would happen if I did. If one of the mothers there hadn't had an emergency inhaler in her purse... I don't even want to think about what would have happened. Maybe that's why every time my breathing gets a little labored I get so scared. Maybe that's why asthma attacks scare my so much more than they scare everyone else who has ever had one. Because every time I have an asthma attack I remember every. single. detail. of that night. I remember how tight the neck of my dress felt. I remember being able to breath less and less as we kept dancing. I remember Zach having to practically carry me off stage because I couldn't hold my own weight. I remember him picking me up right before I lost consciousness. I remember all of it.
Some people can have an asthma attack and keep on walking like nothing happened. They don't collapse (physically or emotionally). They don't have to fight tears. It's almost like it doesn't bother them at all. Is that possible? Could they really not be bothered at all? Am I so weak? Pathetic?
I hate having asthma attacks in front of people. I hate them looking at me with pity in their eyes. I hate how pathetic it makes me feel. But I also hate the thought of being alone. What if my inhaler doesn't help me? What if I actually pass out? There are so many things that could happen, so many things that probably never will. I'm more paranoid than a computer genius centaur (hopefully you guys will know his name).
Usually when I have an attack, no one knows what to do. They just watch as I take out my inhaler and breath in the albuterol sulfate. Sometimes they ask me if I'm OK. Sometimes they look away and pretend I'm not there. But once, someone held me on my feet, swayed slowly back and forth and told me to relax. And for a second, my breathing was almost regular, my lungs didn't feel so small and I didn't wheeze so much. For a second, I wasn't remembering that first attack. Johnathon, you gave be something so precious that night at dance. You gave me hope that, not only asthma, but that memory wouldn't always control my life. That I could live through it. I will never be able to thank you enough for that.
So here it is, my asthma story in four, poorly written paragraphs written on pure emotion. Now you know my story.
