Argumaent for air

The battle for breath

“Let everything that has breath praise the Lord, Prase the Lord.” Psalm 150:6

No one wants to hear mumbling, complaining, or about my life the past week battling for breath. With the onset of spring budding and abounding, comes the allergies to the trees budding and the season of grass clippings. My life takes on an entirely different focus. Breathing.

Asthma is not my friend, my enemy or my relative. It is my life in the misery alley and honestly I wish I could forget that it exists. But considering that some time ago, people use to die form an asthma attack, I count myself lucky or blessed to still be alive.

I remember as a teenager, giving up my love of exercise because I could not breathe. Just as my growth spurt ended, my struggle for air entered summers. Each spring as the world woke up from its frozen slumber, I would take to my bed for nearly two weeks and duel with the new season. My birthday would soon herald another year of the wrangling with the airways. My mother insisted on airing out the house from the winter bugs, and I would fall sick once again.

Why do people insist that the outside air is better? I never put the two together until much later in my life. The argument within about whether to give in to the idea of fresh air, or give up on the hope for cleaner air usually ends with a quarrel within me about whether to get mor medicine for the asthma and visit a doctor or lock myself in a bubble.

Then there was the allergy doctor that argued with me that I did not have asthma. That asthma does not hurt. That allergies don’t cause asthma. That my allergies were far from being my real trigger. That anxiety over the skirmish to come was my real problem. I quit going to him.

The scrimmage that worked itself out in the edging of the about shawl is worth more than a little photograph. It took me nearly two months to work out the border of the pattern. Hundreds of images, pulling out hours of stitches and redoing my work until one day- the conflict over how to end the piece was complete. Much more interesting that the idea that ash trees bud out and put pollen in the air that chokes my throat until my voice turns into a bass “kermit the frog.”

Rainy season also brings me a battle for the breath. Rain use to clean the air. Well, maybe it is dry and dusty. But with the last year and a half of overly saturated ground, it turned our world into an inclosed swimming pool that has never seen any cleaning. The ceiling seems to growing with stalagmite molds! How can you not smell that when walking outdoors.

Warmer weather arrived just in time to start growing other allergy irritants. And I am so glad that I don’t live in a swamp. We are about a half mile from the stagnant water holes, though the south end of our property is pretty soggy. The water table is quite high. That’s why I want to load it up with trees. More allergy irritants.

Fighting for air when the temperature finally reaches a more comfortable sweater zone, is just not fun. Fishing for things do do that won’t zap my energy is hard. But when I got to the point where lying around and watching videos or movies was barely manageable, it was time for a doctor visit.

Relying on a nebulizer just to make it through the day is not blog–worthy material.

Did you notice the butterflies in the yarn grid above. Not quite the same as the finding Willus puzzles, but they are more obvious, I thought. It’s crazy how some people can not imagine elephants in the sky, or a little flighty being within a square. Good luck there.

I want to write about the good book I read of an ultra-marathon runner. But that made me jealous and frustrated that someone else is living life, and I just fighting for air.

I should write about my lengthy prayer list of people fighting for life because of cancer. But then I feel ahamed to even complain about the inactivity that comes with allergy induced asthma.

I should write about the amazement that I felt watching my daughters turn into beautiful young women. The sense of pride as I observed my youngest on the very stage that inspired her to even play an instrument was overwhelming. But then I feel guilty again for not pursuing my own dreams with more focus.

I should write about my adorable grand-daughter, grand nieces, and grand nephew. And then my contrition confuses me for not keeping in better contact.

I should write about my hopes and plans. But all I can do is get through today.

Sometimes, that’s all we have to do. Just breathe.