“When I was a small child, a doctor told my mother that I might not live to be 16, right in front of me.” Another doctor told my mother that I might have the worst asthma attack in Colorado history; it was the worst he had ever seen. My childhood was spent constantly sick with asthma, and it was always in the back of my mind, reminding me of what I ‘couldn’t do.’ I was in and out of the hospital, often in intensive care, especially around the holidays, struggling to breathe on Thanksgiving, Halloween, and Christmas.
Every four hours, I was woken up for a ‘breathing treatment,’ screaming, crying, and begging my mother to stop it, while being held down to have blood drawn and IVs inserted. Because of the constant supply of oxygen, my nose would become sore and raw. My chest and back muscles were extremely sore as a result of the struggle to breathe. I was embarrassed and humiliated after wetting the hospital bed several times a night due to all of the IV fluids, and I was afraid to ask the nurses to change it.
My IVs were frequently placed in my dominant right arm, along with a continuous pulse oximeter on my right pointer finger to ensure my oxygen levels were ‘normal,’ making it difficult to even hold a book at times. On my chest, I had sticky electrodes with wires measuring my heart and connecting to a monitor. Because of all of the wires, I remember feeling extremely stressed at the prospect of asking for assistance in using the restroom. Going was a chore, and I had to do it frequently.
I learned to really hold it, which is probably one of the reasons for my frequent bladder infections, as I reflect back. From infancy to second grade, this was my reality about 10-12 times a year. I used to get jealous and upset when I saw other kids playing outside in the snow because it wasn’t often that I was allowed to. The cold often made it difficult to breathe, and the frigid air caused me to break out in large hives; it was embarrassing.
I couldn’t run like the other kids because I would have an asthma attack, and recovering from it was difficult. My inhaler would frequently malfunction, forcing me to rush through multiple doses. I was taking theophylline, a caffeine derivative, twice a day. I was a hyperactive kid with insomnia, thanks to the medication for my inhalers and nebulizers. Changes in weather, strong emotions, and anything I was allergic to (furry animals, dust, trees, pollen…catching a cold) were also triggers for my asthma.
We had to give up our beloved pets because I developed an allergy to them. My mother claims that our gray cat, Smokey, was very attached to me and allowed me to lay on him as a toddler; having to part with him was heartbreaking. I learned to pray and would often talk to God; it helped to alleviate the sadness and fear I felt. Praying was cathartic for me, and it was through prayer that I learned how to become an optimist.
Instead of dwelling on what might be considered a dark period, I began to look for the beauty and the silver lining in situations. I had a vivid imagination and would daydream about adventures. I recall being in awe of the world that had just opened up to me when I learned to read and write in first grade. As my new source of oxygen, I began devouring books. I had adventures in books that I couldn’t physically have. I missed out on school field trips that I was looking forward to.
When I was in the hospital for Christmas, my mom and siblings would come visit with gifts for a while, but then my mom would have to take them home, and my Oma (grandma) would come stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone. Most of my hospital stays are distant memories because I was so young and sick at the time. Many of my memories are flashbacks or snippets. My father took my brother and me to Puerto Rico when we were four or five years old to visit family.
I spent three days in a small outpatient hospital. The only thing I remember is being stressed and scared because I didn’t speak Spanish and couldn’t understand what people were saying to me. I was also on the thin side, and food didn’t appeal to me. Eating interferes with breathing, and I didn’t have one. My Oma would cry and beg me to eat, but I refused.I learned responsibility early on: how to take my medication and set up my nebulizer treatments on my own, to always have my inhaler on me,
and to be mindful of the activities I chose to participate in. Of course, other kids noticed as well. I attended a friend’s birthday party, and some of the games included running, such as red light/green light and tag. I snuck into the house’s only bathroom and sobbed silently into a towel while people kept banging on the door to use it, according to the friend whose party it was. I was both heartbroken and enraged.
At recess in first grade, I would watch boys chase girls, and I was overjoyed to finally be included. I ran as fast as I could, imagining myself to be lightning fast, but that quickly came to an end when the boys ‘caught me.’ I panicked and pushed them away, crying because I couldn’t breathe and my inhaler was in the classroom. I stumbled into the classroom, trying not to pass out. I had allowed it to get too far and had arrived just in time to open my lungs.
Of course, they no longer included me in their games, and I felt like an outcast. This was the first time I said “fuck asthma” and did whatever I wanted. In second grade, I had my tonsils and adenoids removed in the hopes of reducing my sick days and thus alleviating some of my asthma symptoms. This was around the time of Easter, my favorite holiday. The doctor advised me to take it easy, and my mother was concerned that running around for eggs would aggravate the situation.
My family set up a small area for me to look for eggs alone, with no other children present. I appreciated the effort, but it felt like the fun had been taken away as I looked forward to the egg-gathering competition. I began to push myself here and there. My asthma was bothering me in third grade, but I was chosen to compete in a special math competition for which I had trained and practiced. I was extremely proud of myself for this accomplishment, but my mother advised me to stay at home because I wasn’t feeling well.
I pleaded and begged, insisting that I was fine; I had my inhaler, and everything would be fine. I couldn’t think during the competition. I started coughing violently and struggled to breathe. I recall laying my head on the desk, frustrated and powerless in the face of the situation. I had to be carried out of school because I couldn’t walk. My family relocated to Las Vegas during my preteen and adolescent years.
My doctor changed my medication to something newer and more effective than Theophylline, and the weather seemed to be more agreeable to me. The doctors, on the other hand, would berate me for using my rescue inhaler “too much,” as if I had a choice. It was the only thing keeping me out of the hospital. I hadn’t been hospitalized for asthma since fourth grade, and I was ready to move on with my life.
When I stayed at a friend’s house with animals, I had to bring my massive nebulizer and use it openly. I learned to take my inhaler before physical activity and began running in the gym, though I didn’t dare push myself because I remembered almost passing out from running in first grade. When I turned 16, I awoke feeling strange and in complete shock as my mind flashed back to the doctor who told me I wouldn’t live to be 16. ‘Now what?’ I wondered.
‘I needed to think about what this meant for me and my future.’ I was surprised to discover that I had assumed I would die before the age of 16. After that, I began pushing myself in gym class, pushing myself to run longer and harder. I was determined one day to run the mile nonstop in under 10 minutes, something I had never done before. I took my inhaler beforehand and ran as fast as I could, ignoring the burning in my chest, only pausing once to take my inhaler in the middle.
I couldn’t believe it when I finished. I had run a 7-minute mile! I was lying in the grass, gasping for air, but I was acutely aware of the difference in how I felt. I felt strong and immensely proud. I ran a mile practically nonstop! It dawned on me at that moment… I am more than my asthma, and I have more control than I realize. In my twenties, I decided to prove to myself that I could push my limits by running 5ks. I paced myself during these races, which were both enjoyable and challenging.
Running 5ks led to participation in difficult obstacle course races such as the Spartan 10k, with over 25 obstacles, and Battle Frog. These races demanded the physical and mental toughness I sought. I had never considered myself to be physically strong, but by the end of the races, I felt like an Olympic gold medalist. I wasn’t the fastest runner, and I couldn’t run nonstop, but I wasn’t looking for speed. I was competing against myself, and I wanted to show that I could do it. I felt boundless.
Running provided an additional benefit: the more I ran, the better my asthma became. I was able to reduce my maintenance medication significantly and used my rescue inhaler less and less. I was astounded that my doctors had failed to inform me that I could potentially improve my asthma with exercise, and this sparked a new interest in me: holistic health and preventative education. I graduated from nursing school at the age of 32, hoping to become a holistic nurse.
My passion was and continues to be assisting others in being proactive about their overall health rather than reactive when they become ill. When I saw an improvement in my asthma from running, I became acutely aware of how our lifestyle choices affect us. My life experiences have shaped me into the nurse and coach I am today. When I worked in a hospital, I was a staunch advocate for my patients. I made sure the doctor answered their questions and tried to make their hospital stay as comfortable as possible.
Every step of the way, I educated them because I believe patients should have autonomy and be able to make informed decisions about their health and lives. As a self-care coach, my goal is to help women see the big picture in their decisions and work with them to put themselves first and include real self-care in their lives, no matter what obstacles stand in their way. As a child, asthma was the giant boulder I carried on my back. As I toughened up mentally, asthma became my superpower.
It drove me to work harder, pushing the boundaries and limitations I imposed on myself. My asthma journey led me to a rewarding career in which I am able to help others feel fulfilled and make healthier choices. I’ve learned that our experiences can either make or break us. If we keep looking, we will find answers. Healing begins with you, your mindset, and your choices.” Christina Ayala, RN, Self-Care Coach of Las Vegas NV, submitted this story to Love What Matters. You can follow her journey on Facebook and her website. Subscribe to our newsletter to become a member of the Love What Matters family.