Monty and I left at 5:30 this morning to get to my doctor’s office by eight. For the second time in six weeks, I had such a bad flare-up of asthma that I needed to get my lungs checked and start another round of steroids. “Flare-up” is a misnomer, actually; it sounds so benign. My “flare-ups” involve three different kinds of inhalers, a nebulizer, wheezing so loudly that the cats stare at me like I’m speaking their language, pain when I breathe, and carrying a trash can with me in case the coughing causes me to gag. One of the unfortunate parts of asthma is that the treatments are almost as bad as the condition itself. The inhalers and nebulizer give me instant migraines and make my body shake and my heart pound so intensely that my shirt moves with every beat.
If it sounds like I’m complaining, I’m not—asthma is just another fact of my life. I was diagnosed with it when I was around four, so it’s always been a part of me. My earliest memory of asthma was a doctor telling my parents that my sweet little Siamese cat was triggering asthma attacks, so my parents had to give her away. I feel so sorry for my parents now when I think of them having to do that; it must have broken their hearts just as it broke mine. And I have memories of all the things that the doctors told us to try—Mom would turn the shower on as hot as it would go, and I’d sit on the bathroom floor, letting the steam envelop me. Then Dad would take me outside right away, the thought being that the drastic change in temperature would help me to breathe. It did, momentarily. Doctors also showed Dad how to help clear some of the mucus from my lungs and open my airways by laying me on my stomach and pounding me on the back. Dad would talk to me the whole time he did it: “It’s gonna be okay, Twerpie. You just breathe.”
Most times, we ended up in the ER, anyway. Dad would carry me in in my pajamas, and the doctors would take over. I don’t remember everything they did—breathing treatments, oxygen—but I remember the adrenaline shots. I’d be feeling breathless and so very tired, like I couldn’t possibly take one more painful breath, and then I’d get the shot and wham! I’d nearly jump off the gurney. Yes, I could breathe, but I was so hyper and so wired that I couldn’t sit still for a second.
School was a whole different beast. Asthma is not the condition of a cool person. It is the disease of dorks, at least it was back then. I had to carry my inhalers around, wear countless layers of clothes in the winter time, and stay inside at recess, helping my teachers to grade spelling tests. I was already an odd kid who carried books around with me and had no friends. Add inhalers and giant multicolored scarves wrapped up to my eyeballs, and I became even odder.
It’s not much different now, except that I refuse to wear scarves—I have a deep, deep hatred for scarves. I have inhalers within arms’ length everywhere in the house. I have to use the nebulizer—the breathing machine that saves my life while making it miserable at the same time. Every winter I catch a cold which inevitably turns into bronchitis. And there’s still that desperate, terrifying feeling that this time, this time, surely, I won’t be able to take another breath. I open my mouth to breathe, and my lungs don’t cooperate. I cough and I gag and panic takes over. While Monty gets the nebulizer started, I repeat this mantra again and again in my head, “Breathe for me, God. Breathe for me.”
Yesterday when I had to have a breathing treatment, I was lying there trying to breathe in the medicine, and I thought about how God had chosen the perfect condition for me to have. He created me—every part, even the asthma. As a child, when asthma made me different, I took refuge in books and in writing, and that built the foundation for the person I am today. I also had a special closeness with my dad, as he was the one who listened to my lungs, pounded air into me, and had to make the decision to go to the hospital. He seemed like a superhero to me—and because I had a father like that, I found it easy to trust in my heavenly Father and believe that He loved me.
Today, I can say with all honesty that I’m grateful for my asthma. When it flares up, I’m forced to be still and literally depend on God for my next breath. When I ask Him to breathe for me, every fiber of my being means it. I can’t breathe for myself. I have to surrender and let God do the work. And every time I do, I think of this beautiful verse: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” (2 Cor. 12:9) The weakest I ever feel is when I can’t breathe—and God’s grace meets me there.
I will always have asthma. I’ll never blow out more than five or six candles on a birthday cake. I can’t run. And most days, breathing is painful. But every time there is pain, there is grace. And with every wheezy, shaky breath, I’m reminded that God’s grace is sufficient. From breath to breath, it is sufficient.
Asthma: For Dad
– Renee Adele Phillips
Monster lurking inside me, stalking me day and night—
cruel companion waiting to attack me at my weakest,
crushing my chest with its terrible weight
stealing every last bit of air
feeding on my terror and
forcing desperate sounds:
wheezing, coughing,
gasping
But you always
came, too, my superman—
sweeping me into your powerful arms.
You held me, your hand the size of my back
as you pounded air into me the way the doctors told you.
My eyes sought yours: your quiet strength, my comfort as you
slayed the monster, slowing your breathing and helping me do the same.
And once again, I knew you had saved me—knew God had saved me, even as I know it now.
The Spirit of God has made me;
the breath of the Almighty gives me life.Job 33:4
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Comments 6
To all who have suffered with asthma I can tell you the is hope for life. I developed the disease at around 4 and I am now 64 living in Texas (bad allergen state). We have 3 dogs and a cat. I have been through every treatment I believe but I now am stable giving myself a shot of mild allergens and an maintenance inhaler and nose sprays. Worst case every few years I have to have polyps removed from my sinuses. You can live a good long life with asthma. ?
Thank you, Steve, for your encouragement and hope. I’m especially happy to hear that you have pets and can still manage your asthma well. My prayer is to get to the place where you are–(not Texas, ha!) where your asthma is managed and you live a normal life. Thank you for that hope tonight.
Renee, wow asthma must be in the Hodson D&A , I have suffered with some breathing problems all my life but it has gotten so bad theses last ten years. Just like you have been the whole nine yards with all the treatments ambulances rides days in the hospital the terrible steroids that add weight like crazy. We had to get rid of two really cool cats, I was a fool to try and bring them in our home. So after several really serious attaches and on attach one were I about didn’t make it, I don’t remember it, after I had blacked out the doctor went to the insurance company and requested that I be put on a shot called Xolar. The shot has made a world difference, you get two shots together in one arm for a total of 300 mg is a little painful but it works, you take these shots every three, you need to have an Epinephrine Pen with you when you have the shots and stay at the infusion center for at least 45 minutes in case of a reaction. The Epinephrine pen is needed if you have a reaction. This shot is very expensive and takes a while to get insurance approval, but you still need all the medication you have, but other than the twice a day maintenance treatments you usually sail right along. Talk to your doctor if you are not on Xolar already, it does make so much difference, we do have two dogs they don’t shed much and I run an air purifier in our bed room. I so agree with you God has give us this asthma to keep us humble and looking to Him and His Son to keep on the right path, asthma does keep us humble. When you know you could pass out and be gone from an attach you tend to be very careful how you live your life and you thank God for every sun rise you have and everyday you have with your loved ones. I worked with a young gril at the printing plant I retired from she had terrible asthma and they couldn’t pin point the cause, it was really bad lots of ambulance trips, her husband left her and all that could be bad came down on her, her doctor tried the Xolar shot it didn’t work the reaction put her in the hospital for several days, unfortunately the never found a control med and she went home to the Lord.
So we all have got to be so careful with asthma, it is a killer. What really hurts I can’t take the thin air in Colorado anymore which breaks my heart, I stationed at Fort Carson in the early 60’s no problem, our son moved his family to Colorado Springs in the early 90’s went about every eighteen months no problem breathing just ran out of time with grandkids, tried to visit 2 years ago spent 2 days in bed and came home, doctor said better not try again without some oxygen. I thank God for each day, try to be careful. I have so many relatives in Colorado it would be awesome to visit again, I can’t take the risk. There is nothing that scares you more than not breathing, on one of my hospital stays the nurses told me, when you pass out your airways relax and you will breathe again, wasn’t what I experienced, when I passed out I woke up with a tube down my throat, well at least I woke up. Let me how it is going for you, give your problems to our Lord, He has your back!!! One of the better things I have found in the morning when you first get up and your throat is full of junk nothing beats that big cup of hot coffee, it helps to clear everything out. Thank you for these great posts, stay cool, breath deep every breath is a gift from God!! Thank you so much for sharing, I am so glad to know I am not the only one in the family dealing with this.
Grover, no you are definitely not the only one dealing with this! Thank you for sharing your story. I’ll definitely ask my doctor about that shot. Right now, he thinks our three cats are my biggest triggers (like you, I knew better but got them anyway, and I love them too much to give them away!), we’re going to do some immunotherapy and see if we can desensitize my system to the cat allergens. I am so sorry for how you’ve suffered–and especially sorry that you can no longer see your loved ones in Colorado. I have written that down on my prayer list, and I will be praying that some advancement in asthma comes along that enables you to overcome that heartbreaking hurdle. I will definitely try drinking something hot first thing in the morning (would you believe I’m allergic to coffee?!) and see how that helps. Thank you so much for sharing your story and reminding me that none of us is alone. And thank you for being such a faithful reader.
Dearest Renee, oh how I can relate to your story here, not that I have ever had astma but a daughter with severe astma since she was born even as they would not diagnose it as such until she was two. My husband in his troubled mind decided I was just a bad mother and it was all my fault. I was like your Dad, I took care of her every night, counted her breathing and when the numbers got to high, it was back to ER. I never slept those first years, I just would lay next to her hoping she would be okay. I spend more time in the hospital than at home. I remember the highs and lows of her medication and all the extra measures to keep her calm, watch for food triggers, noise triggers, seasons when it would be worse, ocean breezes that would bring the pollen across, it was never ending taks to balance it out so she would be at least to some degree more comfy. She had earplugs put in four times to drain her ears, her tonsils and adenoids out so she could breath a little lighter, the list was endless. As a mother it was heartbreaking, made so much worse by accusations that I was a useless mother who did not love this child?
I so feel WITH you in this and so appreciate you as you share this story and that you let God once again remain at the helm of all of this and that you accept that is in part of how He created you. Blessings my friend as you try breath your way through it all. All my love to you!
Oh, Klara, what a story you have. Speaking from the perspective of a person who lived the nightmare of childhood asthma as your daughter did, you couldn’t possibly have done more to love her through it. What a gift she had/has in you. I am saddened and so surprised by your then-husband’s comments–you’re right, he must have had a troubled mind to have thought the way he did. (what grace you have for him!) Thank you for sharing another part of your amazing testimony. You are a woman of such grace and faith; I always treasure your words. Much love to you tonight.