Breathing is a Gift

As a lifelong asthmatic, I’ve always appreciated being able to breath.  In the last year I’ve had two nephews who have been hospitalized and in the ICU for breathing problems and it been ever more clear to me how much we take for granted this autonomic instinct.  When you don’t have to consciously think about breathing, you never really realize how vitally important it is.

When I was born, I had swallowed meconium and was immediately taken from my mother and had my lungs sucked clean.  So you can say from the minute I was born, I’ve had breathing problems.  I was diagnosed at age 2 with asthmatic bronchitis (a rare form of asthma that when I have an attack I can breath as deeply as I want, I can’t just exhale).  My breathing issues were so significant, my pediatrician could no longer treat me and I was referred to a specialist I still see to this day.  In fact, the only time I ever saw my pediatrician was when I had strep throat, because almost always if I was sick it had something to do with my limp lungs.

As a child I never really comprehended why my parents were so over protective of my health until my second child was hospitalized with RSV when he was only 6 weeks old.  He was born 4 weeks early so his adjusted age was just 2 weeks old.  The nurses told my friend, who’s daughter was in the hospital room two doors down also with RSV, that he was the smallest baby they had ever seen there.  I’m glad they didn’t tell me that.  He had an IV in his head, various monitors were stuck all over his chest, and his pulse oxygen was measured through something taped to his foot.  Nursing him meant unraveling him through all these different wires, and if one detached, several nurses came running.  It was, undoubtedly, the scariest week of my life.

After that experience I thought for sure my poor baby would have to deal with asthma for the rest of his life.  I grieved for him because I knew all the things I have had to deal with throughout my life and wanted to spare him from that pain.  And for whatever reason, by the time we went for his kindergarten immunizations, he no longer had any trace of asthma.  I believe it’s because we started taking him for regular chiropractic adjustments from the time he was almost 2, but I have no proof of it.  Just my own instincts and improved lung health since I started getting adjustments 7 years ago.

Since that awful time, I’ve watched two of my sisters deal with their own sons having asthma issues, and also being hospitalized.  And I hope that I can in some way help my nephews deal with this wonderful disease of asthma through my own experiences.  If I can spare them any pain, some of what I’ve been through will be worth it.  Some people might be thinking, “it’s just asthma, it’s not that bad…it’s not like it’s childhood cancer.”  And I agree, there are worse diseases to have, but it is a disease and it has seriously impacted my life. Continue reading

You can’t make me say anything bad about my husband

Four years ago when I was pregnant with my third child it was the most emotionally trying time of my life.  I had just lost my mother to pancreatic cancer and I was overcome with a grief I had never experienced before.  I had started a new job, which readily claims has a two year learning curve.  I was hanging onto to life by the skin of my teeth.  And the hubs stepped up and carried me and our family during that time.  Our daughter was in 1st grade and our son was in pre-school and the hubs took over parental duties and household duties as I tried to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart.

It’s no exaggeration to say he did homework with our kids, gave them baths, put them to bed, and got them ready for school every morning, while the thought of even emptying the dishwasher was so overwhelming I could barely cope.  He cooked our meals, he vacuumed, he did the laundry, he cleaned, scrubbed the bathrooms, did the grocery shopping, and gleefully gave me a foot rub whenever I needed it, even when I didn’t ask.  He let me fall apart and he supported me as I got back up on my feet. Continue reading