At least it's better than it was when I was a kid: every spring, I'd have to take daily puffs on the puffer (is that what everyone calls it? Inhaler, maybe? Puffer was our cute pet name for it), and it was really just a part of life. I didn't know it was associated with nerds for the longest time, even though I fit the un-athletic, skinny pale book-reader stereotype perfectly.
The best part of asthma was the Machine.
It was a little off-white, toaster-sized box with a flap. Inside were tangled cords, medicine, and a mask that looked like the PBS logo. The setting up of the Machine was so precise: unwind the cords, measure droplets of medicine into the base of the mask, plug everything in. It was a pain to do the Machine in the daytime, because I'd have to sit there for almost half an hour, tied to the machine by the cord on the mask, and the vapors made my nose run all over the place. But having asthma at night was great. I'd come downstairs, and Mom would set everything up for me, and the Machine comfortingly rumbled along. And I got to watch "Bewitched" or "I Dream of Jeannie." I loved those shows. Samantha and Jeannie could breathe really well.
