Asthma

I was born with eczema. The family photo albums are devoid of baby Cambria; future generations will probably be led to believe that I sprang into existence around my first birthday, once my skin and hair had grown back. My earliest childhood memories are of itching, itching and more itching; of teachers horrified by the state of my skin; of my baby sister getting into mortal trouble for painting the bedroom with handprints of my precious E45 emollient cream.

The summer I was seven, I developed hayfever. If I had been bored at school before, I was positively distracted now. I could scratch my itchy skin, but I couldn't itch behind my eyes or inside my nose. Every successive summer from then on brought its own brand of antihistamine - my body seemed to develop a resistance to each one as it came along.

Skip ahead a few years, and grown-up Cambria moves to the big city. Neither eczema (except on very cold days) nor hayfever (except in spring when tree pollen season begins) has plagued me with anything like the ferocity it did when I was small, and my skin and sinuses are grateful. Still, I've never shaken the habit of biting my fingernails. The decision to have either beautiful manicures or skin to hold oneself together makes itself, and to risk one for the other is something I'll probably never be able to do.

For those first few years in the city, I counted myself lucky. My health was better than it ever had been, and unlike several of my relatives, I showed no signs of developing "the full package" - the triple threat of eczema, hayfever and asthma. Then the coughing started. Then it persisted. Then the chest infections started and kept coming, one after the other, mere weeks apart, relentless and mysterious and exhausting. Finally, on Halloween 2010, I had my first trip to A&E with an asthma attack. Unfortunately it took another two attacks before I was officially diagnosed and treatment began, and by then the physical and psychological damage had been done.

It killed off my career before it started, you see.

*

Yesterday I wrote about my awful pharmacist. I admit: I was psyching myself up to collect my prescription, and a little expression of my frustrations was in order. However, it turned out to be a beautiful day, and I collected a list of errands together in order to go outside, but for as short a time as possible. (Sadly, sunshine alone does not cure anxiety.) One of these other errands was the booking of my bi-annual asthma review, so I visited the doctor to make my appointment on my way to the pharmacy.

Any therapeutic effect the writing of yesterday's entry had on me was obliterated for two reasons.

He asked if I would like to take a test to gauge how well my asthma is currently controlled, by measuring my inhalation with a sort of reverse version of a peak flow meter. Apparently I failed at this; he berated my technique at length, and made no attempt to explain how to improve. Having berated him myself at similar length not more than three hours earlier, I listened with a smirk on my face, before meekly responding:

"But my asthma nurse says my technique is perfect. In fact, my next asthma review is tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps she can speak to you about it afterwards?"

His shitty grin turned to fury. "You do that," he snarled.

This time, I didn't wait for the door to close behind me before loudly proclaiming "wanker."

So imagine my horror at his having the last laugh, when I discovered at home that he had only provided me with half my monthly dose of antidepressants.

*

"Ooh, aren't you easy!" said the nurse as she found a fresh filter for her peak flow meter. "We'll be done in no time!"

It's true that my asthma hasn't bothered me at all lately. With the unseasonably warm weather, I haven't needed to use my Ventolin inhaler. My BMI is normal (which I knew), my blood pressure is spot-on (which is a surprise, given how my mood has been lately) and I don't smoke (I was loath to inform her about the amount of secondary smoke I'm exposed to).

My peak flow was a consistent 400, which is below my target of 435 but pleased my asthma nurse to no end regardless.

"Have you brought your inhalers with you today?"

I produced both Ventolin and Qvar.

"Show me how you use your blue one, please."

I shook the inhaler and expelled all the air from my lungs, right down to my diaphragm, just as I was taught in singing classes. Then I removed the cap, held it to my mouth, and activated the spray simultaneously with a deep breath inward. I held my breath for five seconds, then exhaled slowly.

"Excellent," said the nurse. "Perfect technique. Your asthma is well under control."