Asthma Schmasthma

Asthma or not asthma? That is the question.

A few months ago, I had a couple of ridiculous doctor's appointments at the university health centre, in a quest to figure out why I've been coughing and having some mild but persistent chest tightness. After being told it might be a multitude of things, I was eventually prescribed some asthma medication and instructed to "see if it helped, come back if it didn't." Apparently, the only thing student health services is really good at is issuing notes to profs about test-delaying illnesses, contrived or otherwise.

The thing is, from what I know about asthma (which isn't much), if you have it, it's imperative to control it properly. Since Dr. Dick wasn't very helpful (okay, that's not her full name, but is, appropriately, part of it), I finally bit the bullet and made the trek to my family doctor (aka, right down the street from my parents' house; totally convenient, except that I'm not living there right now!). I expected the same old same old from him: he's a big fan of the "don't worry, it will go away eventually" school of prescription. To my surprise, he was all business: he ordered chest X-rays and a bunch of tests, and gave me some new medication to use until the results are in. On the one hand, it's comforting that he's taking me seriously; on the other, it's disturbing: do I really have asthma? It's so weird! I was never bothered with it as a kid or a teenager, and there's no history in my family. This is totally the suck.

The good news is that, as of yet, it's never worsened while exercising, and I've been able to run without concern. So I'm going to take these meds like a good girl and keep my lungs as healthy as they can be - I've got some use for them yet. Now, if only I could figure out this inhaler - I keep thinking I've got the technique down... and then I spray steroids all over my tongue. Yuck.