When I was three years old, I remember playing under my “funny blanket”. My dad called it that because it had laughing characters on it. I would play in the hallway of our house hiding inside and my cocker spaniel – Merlin would play along and even tug at the blanket and try to pull it off of me. With me being so small sometimes Merlin even pulled the blanket along with me in it.

This activity was all fun and games until I had my first huge reaction. I began wheezing, then coughing. It got so bad that I couldn’t breathe. All I remember is being in the hospital for three days. It’s one of those atmospheres that seem so unreal, that it has to be a dream. Because, that’s how it feels.

I remember them (the nurses) trying to put me in a bathtub of ice to calm me down, but all it did was make me more upset. I recall them drawing my blood, over and over. It was bad enough to create this fear in me. The fear of needles. Or at least having my blood drawn.

My dad wasn’t happy with how many times they poked me and he wanted to get me out of there. I’ve came to the realization that I was hospitalized for asthma. Which probably was a result of the dog (and being under the blanket). That created another new fear in me. The fear of breathing or suffocation. The funny thing is, I wanted to be an astronaut until I knew that your air was somewhat restricted and you’d have to go through some extreme training of holding your breathe. I guess I’ll pass on that dream.

I had my first asthma attack when I was three and the doctors wanted to find out more, so they did an allergen test on me. They poked me with these needles of different things that I could have an allergic reaction to. After a while, you can see the parts that became red on my skin were the things I was allergic to. Those things included; dog hair, cat hair, feathers, dust, grass, pollen, & eucalyptus.

As a result of the tests, I had to start getting allergy shots every week. This continued until I was 12. I also had to use the nebulizer every time I had what my dad called “a mouse”. Once I got all worked up I began wheezing and coughing. I had to use “the breather” to calm me down. The machine had a mask to breathe it all in, so my dad would ask me if I wanted to wear my fighter-jet-pilot’s mask.

Funny to see how far I’ve came since that first attack. I was an underdog to breathing, but that never stopped me from playing sports. Praise God for the air He breathed into my nostrils to fill my lungs.