Asthma

The pictures in the albums don't match the memories. The pictures show two smiling parents who look at each other adoringly. They show two sisters who are spread out in age, but enjoy doing everything together. They show holiday and vacation pictures where everyone is smiling and happy to be together.

The memories, not as bright and put together as the pictures, tell a different story. The parents are loud and use a lot of profanity to communicate their dislike for each other. The abundance of holiday gifts were an offering to make up for missing school events, spending evenings getting high in the closet, and always being mad.

There are no pictures from all my hospital stays. I was diagnosed with asthma in 1983. I had long stays that winter where they ran a lot of tests. I remember getting breathing treatments. I remember nurses clapping on my back with cupped hands to loosen up the crud in my chest to make breathing easier. My mom would sleep at the hospital with me. I remember her getting tired of sleeping on the uncomfortable cot and making me switch places with her. She slept in the comfy hospital bed, and I slept on the cot, but the window on a cold winter's night. I remember being so uncomfortable and cold. This is how she took care of me. At least she was there, right?

Asthma inhalers are expensive. My parents talked about this a lot. Money was always a problem in our house. Except at the holidays and birthdays. The pictures show that we were always spoiled with all the toys we wanted. But, my parents always complained about the cost of my medicine. I didn't like to add to their money problems, so I wouldn't mention needing a refill. I would put it off as long as I could. "As long as I could" usually meant until had been empty for a few days and I couldn't breathe. We would end up at the emergency room at 3 Am so I could get a shot to open my airways, and they'd tell me not to let that happen again. I would be told not to worry about how much the inhaler cost. But, their talks about the expense of my medication would continue where I could hear them, and the cycle of me not wanting to be a burden continued, always ending in a trip to the ER in the middle of the night.