chronic

Today I am spewing venom about my diseased lungs. My husband thinks asthma is sexy. I can see how he thinks that when I have to suck back ventolin, in the middle of dinner or a romantic moment.

I have lived with inferior lungs for 20 years. The deterioration of my condition over said years is far outpacing the treatments, and a cure is still unimaginable. The oodles of websites and reading material devoted to the prevention and treatment of asthma tell me that my life should be unhindered provided my illness is controlled properly.

Therein lies my issue. So far, it seems my asthma is uncontrollable. I have been on every steroid known to man. I have seen specialists for lungs, and allergists. I have been off work for months. I have been given the liberty to self-treat. I have spent countless hours in doctor's offices, and in emergency waiting rooms. Nothing helps. My asthma is intrinsic mostly.

Of course I have the typical flare-ups related to cats (allergens), exercise, the usual. That, I expect. What I am growing increasingly frustrated with, is the flareups for no reason. The days missed from work, the lethargy and extreme fatigue from night after night of disturbed sleep. The dependance on drugs (nasty, addictive, side-effect producing ones at that) to simulate a feeling of well being.

They say intrinsic asthma can be brought on by stress, anxiety, molds, gases and all sorts of goodies, mostly inescapable. I do not have the means nor the energy to rid my home or life of any of those culprits. And so, where does that leave me? Wheezing in bed is my assumption.