Thank God for asthma hibernation. This awkward disease has a way of hiding in the sand for years making it's owner think the beast has left the building. Then just as you think it's gone WHAM! it hits you like a mack truck smashing into a possum on an expressway.
Thank God for asthma hibernation. It made for five good years. It made for five hunting camps. It made for five years of emptying boxes and moving furniture in the basement. It meant five years of raking leaves. It means five years of playing catch with my son. It means five years of rolling in the grass with my younger kids.
Yet asthma hibernation has it's own dark side, and this can be deadly for some. Because by not showing it's ugly head you might think the asthma beast is gone forever, and you enjoy yourself too much. You spend time around your allergens. You tempt the beast this way. There's this old rule that you never mess with a sleeping giant.
Thank God for the sleeping giant. Yet while surely you should enjoy the days when it's gone, you should never tempt it. You shouldn't stand by the fire at hunting camp, inhaling the fumes and scents, even though that's what everyone else does. You can't because the beast may strike. The beast did strike.
Thank God for the sleeping giant. Yet while surely you should clean your basement, you should limit yourself to a few minutes on the job as opposed to working until the job is done. Because in doing this your allergies struck, and then it hit your lungs. And then it wiped you out.
Thank God for asthma hibernation. Thank God the beast goes away for a while. Yet we also thank God for the medicine in the cabinet that can make the beast's tail loosen up its squeeze on your air passages.
Thank God for that five year old thralling pill that finally gave me my breath back last night. Those three continuous breathing treatments didn't do a thing. The panic was real. The anxiety was real. Yet that five year old pill, the one you weaned yourself off of after 30 years of chronic theophylline dependence, was staring at your face. "Why not? What do you have to lose?"
It went down. You laid down to get some rest, hoping, praying you'd fall asleep -- eventually. You sit high up on the pillow, concentrating on each breath. The breaths didn't go in all the way. Dyspnea. Air hunger. panic. Calm. Calm. You try to convince yourself
Than, 30 minutes later, unexpectedly, it came in all the way. Did it really happen. You inhaled again, the asthmatic did. He inhaled. It went in again. A feeling of euphoria ensued like he knew he could never explain to someone who didn't have this disease. The 5 year old theophylline pill worked. It worked. Sleep came. Rest. Rest.
The next day you could feel the allergies. Your eyes are sore and red. Your chest burns from all the heaving of each breath the night before. Yet you feel joy knowing the breaths came in. Air. Fresh air. What a joy. Yes. We asthmatics will never take air for granted, as others do.
Thank God for air. Thank god for the ability to breath it. Happy Thanksgiving.