My asthma is actually somewhat better now than it was several years ago.

Comparatively, that is. For me. I’m aware that my asthma is also worse than other people’s.

Probably many other people’s if you want to get down to brass tacks and be honest about it.

A few years ago, I was at a place where I needed to take prednisone roughly every month and a half without fail… and there were some stints when I needed to take it every three weeks. It was my primary disabling diagnosis. I got short of breath doing simple things around the house, and any real form of exercise was out of the question. Friends of mine used to joke, with my permission, that I would be lucky to make it to forty… except that wasn’t entirely a joke as much as it was all of us honestly hoping that something would not trigger a fatal asthma attack in me before I actually turned forty years old, let alone anytime soon — in, say, the next several months. I had to have conversations with people that knew me in person about what I would want done if I were to be found unconscious as a result of a severe asthma attack, how far they would want medical professionals to go to attempt to save me (did I want to be ventilated? how long did I want to be left on the ventilator?) if the absolute worst were to happen. It was no big deal that I frequently had coughing attacks and coughed up at least a handful of mucus as a result of them and then could breathe better for a time. But sometime between then and now, something gradually changed. Just a bit.

As my migraines progressively got more frequent, and more severe, my asthma dialed it back. Just a bit.

Almost in lockstep.

Exercise still leaves me absolutely winded, and exerting myself too much is still something that I have to pay for in spades if I actually do it, and I still do have to nebulize fairly frequently, but for some reason, I am not quite where I was at a few years ago. I am still not quite sure why that is. With the black humor that I like to use to cope with just about everything, I like to joke around and say that enough people prayed for me not to die of a fatal asthma attack that now, instead, I have severe migraines to deal with. I managed to live long enough to have another problem to deal with. (And maybe that’s actually the truth.) I’m not at an actual place where I have to worry about whether or not I will need to be intubated as a result of an asthma attack.

It’s still really annoying to have to deal with, but we’re not quite there any more.

Readers who have severe asthma, or any severe, disabling diagnosis will understand what I mean here.