So about 2 minutes ago I wrote a blog about me not wanting to write a blog about my asthma. However I then come across a blog that I’ve already written about it, I just never posted it. So here you go. A lil preview to my asthma life. The rest was written in May 2019.

So it’s 14:13 and I’m currently on day number 7 since the last time I left the house other than to go to the hospital or work. It’s been a long boring 50 hours of sitting doing nothing but lie in bed, but slowly I am recovering which is always a positive. I’ve recently (10 minutes ago) been inspired by a friend to start writing a blog, and to be honest writing a blog isn’t the worst idea in the world (the worst idea obviously being putting BBQ sauce on a burger). I’ve been sitting here thinking about what to write about. Should I write about my travels? My friends? My past relationship? And while all would be very interesting and definitely fun to talk about, I thought maybe I should start my first blog (getting overconfident thinking I might write another one, who knows) about something that is a little more personal and very relevant to my current state.

From what I remember I was 5 years old when I was first diagnosed with asthma and to be honest I can’t really remember a time in my life when I didn’t have it. We were moving up to Scotland from England and of course I couldn’t make it an easy move, that wouldn’t be fun at all would it? Need some drama in your life. I can’t remember much about my first attack or being diagnosed even…I was 5 years old, sue me. But I do remember the first time I had to take stronger medication called Prednisolone. Staring at the fizzling bright pink potion the nurse was handing me, trying to convince me I was just a quick gulp away from a yummy chocolate biscuit which was dangled in front of me. Safe to say she wasn’t the happiest of chaps about 4.9 seconds later as I vomited what I could of this horrible bright pink concoction all over her. I swear if hell had a taste, this would be it.

I honestly give it all to my mum and dad for having to put up with my personality mixed with my asthma, its like trying to tell a fat kid he can never have chocolate again, or trying to stop a bird from flying when all he wants to do is fly, even just a tiny bit. I couldn’t be more grateful for them both and all the things they’ve done for me in general but especially during my times of illnesses. I’ve not always really been affected by this, when I’m well I am so well. Hell i’m even healthier than most people, and strangely enough my lungs are a very good, strong pair that I’ve been blessed with…just sometimes they like to have a little rest and shut down.

Ah so you’re allergic to dust then? Animals? It’s when you exercise? Nope. My asthma stems from purely the simpleness of a change in weather. When the cold days turn to warm days and vice versa this is when I catch every cold and virus coming to me which then effects my breathing system, ergo, asthma attacks. However I suppose I’ve always managed to find the funny side of things, because I don’t see the point in dwelling over struggles and bad moments in life, everyone has them but we also have many more amazing fantastic opportunities too. Anyway let’s get back to me dwelling over my struggles and bad moments just for a little bit more, I promise the next blog will be happier. In all seriousness it is rather nice to just sit and write this all down, it’s like taking a big weight off of my shoulders.

He was so small and fluffy, as soon as I saw him I fell in love immediately. No bigger than the size of one of tiles on my kitchen floor. His eyes were bright blue and full of joy and love. Storm. That’s what we called him, after a girl who was in my mum’s classes. It kinda has a nice sound to it, so strong and powerful, yet magnificent to watch and experience. Me being a bouncy 11 year-old full of life I was so excited for this day we were finally allowed to get a dog. I still remember the PowerPoint that I made of pets I was willing to accept and reasons why me, my brother and sister were responsible enough to look after one. I’m talking pets ranging from hamsters to dolphins (like I said…11 year old, full of life and hope) but deep down I knew that it was a dog I wanted. However I never really got to experience the first proper month of his life with us as 2 weeks later there I was again in the middle of the night in the car on my way to hospital. One of my very worst attacks that I’ve ever had but to be honest…it wasn’t all negatives.

Her name was Lauren, or something close to that I can’t fully remember, and she had long light brown hair scooped back into a pony tail so her hair didn’t get caught on the tube which was placed through a hole in her neck in order to help her breathe. I don’t remember much about her, but I do remember thinking how lucky I was that I was only ill like this once or twice a year and not every day. We may not all be lucky, but we are all luckier than someone else out there. During this time here I also discovered many small ways to make myself laugh, if I didn’t then I would probably cry and that definitely wouldn’t help my lack of being able to breathe.

Dr Donaldson he was called. The small amount of hair that he still had was quite dark however he did have quite a fun looking mustache. He was wearing a dark suit and had a brown peculiar watch which he would use to help check my pulse. Now the thing about this doctor which amused me so much, was that every single time without fail that he went to check my pulse he seemed to have misplaced his watch. Confusingly patting in his pockets and looking around him to see where he had put it down, only to realize about 7 seconds later that the watch was serving its purpose by being on his wrist, exactly where it should be. It’s little things like this that would keep me going. Creating a bookmark for every singe person I could think of, even for my cousin who lived about 300 miles away in a different country. Entering in the hospital drawing competition. I even got the chance to go down and see the hospital radio that they had. All little parts of joy that I had in this time of many struggles. After a few days of lots of medication and blood tests and needles and masks they decided that I was somewhat ready to be released from the hospital, even with my mum begging them not to because she knew I wasn’t better. And to no surprise to my mum there I was a few days later back in hospital in a much worse state than I was before on my way to High Dependency. Now here is a place where no child should ever need to go and not even because I believe my situation was bad, it could have been worse I suppose, but the thing that really broke me was this one couple cautiously watching over their new born baby who was not any bigger than my inhaler spacer. Fear in their eyes that something so precious that they had only just been given would be taken away from them. It was heart breaking for me but I was still trying to stay positive. Here in High Dependency was actually where I discovered the weird and wonderful film of Hocus Pocus which I watched on the TV on wheels that they gave to me.

“It’s just like sticking your head out of a car moving at 70 MPH, it won’t be pleasant but you will get used to it”. Bipap mask, now this is one thing I never want to have to experience again. Trying to catch your breath while having air blasted into your lungs is a concept I never really 100% understood, but I guess it worked so…I suppose it was useful after all. Toast. 1 slice of Toast. That’s what I was eventually allowed to have after 2 days of no food or water. Here I was, with my dad, sitting waiting for the first time in ages for the soon to come moment that I would experience the glorious taste of plain toast. Now, since I was attached to 2 different types of machines and I had about 3 needles sticking in me all over the place, I couldn’t really move my arms to feed myself without hurting myself, which is where my dad came in handy. Oh how nice you’re thinking, I bet your dad was really lovely and supportive about it and just fed you like a normal person, right? Wrong. “nnneeeeewwnnnn, here comes the airplane”. Toast flying left then right then left then right slowly coming closer and closer yet seemingly further away. The next half slice of toast came in the form of a train “choo choo”. Many reasons to why I love my dad, him, like me, can bring laughter and jokes to even the moments that maybe shouldn’t have humor to them.

There are many other times throughout my life where I have been admitted to hospital because of my asthma, and there are many different medications that I have had to and will always have to take on a day to day basis in order to keep myself being a human with a normal functioning set of lungs but I have also learned many cool and interesting things. Like for example when you’re wired up to a machine that monitors your heart rate, it takes around about 20 seconds of you not breathing in order for it to beep and make alarming bells. That from the window on the 7th floor of Yorkhill hospital there are not 1 but 2 greggs that you are able to see. That the sick bowl that they give you in the hospital does in fact make a very lovely hat. That although doctors are the “smart” ones, without nurses it would be a very depressing place and that they are honestly the saving grace to keeping people alive, especially the one nurse called Claire who I remember helping me with lots of things. I also have very many funny experiences, like the time in September 2015, the year that I was starting University. 17 years old. Don’t really remember if it was night or if it was early morning but it was dark outside. Getting worse and worse, nothing they were giving me was working so back down to High Dependency I go. However here was the funny part. Between the nurse trying and failing to put a cannula in my wrist and the other nurse frantically trying to put my oxygen mask back on my even though I had just been sick into it, I was the calmest one there. Rushing down the hospital corridor in my bed on wheels to the lift to take me downstairs, only to find that the bed didn’t actually fit the lift (not that it stopped the one nurse from trying to ram it in as if it was magically going to reduce in size or the lift get bigger). Rushing back down the corridor to the other lift which successfully fit the bed this time. Down another corridor, through lots of doors, almost squishing one unfortunately positioned nurse on the way. Through more doors until finally I made it. Who knew hospitals could be full of so many corridors and doors, not me that’s for sure.

Anyway I’ve been sitting here rambling on for what seems like forever about all things asthma I think maybe its time now to sign off and go make myself some fruit and yogurt to brighten up this bed bound day number 3. It’s been kinda nice to just ramble on about some of my asthmatic memories, not all entirely negative which is a big positive. We aren’t all blessed with the best luck in life, everyone has their ups and everyone has there downs, we even have those bits in the middle that are neither up or down. But I have learned from my asthma that we can sometimes even find ups in our downs, if we look hard enough and have enough positivity. Maybe I’ll write more blogs about traveling, past relationships and things that I have learned throughout my experiences in life. But here’s a little deep insight to a certain part of my life which many people know so little about.