Breathe Easy: The Asthma Attack that Challenged Parental Skepticism
Oh, what a delight it is to dive into the depths of Reddit, where drama unfurls in the most unexpected of places. Today’s engagement, dear readers, revolves around a respiratory adventure that puts familial dynamics to the test. Buckle up, because we’re taking a wild ride into the realm of asthmatic adventures and parent-child conflicts!
Allergic Asthma: A Story as Old as Time
Let’s set the stage, shall we? Our protagonist, a 24-year-old Peruvian woman, is no stranger to the relentless grasp of allergic asthma. Born with it, she’s endured countless attacks soothed by salbutamol, a loving (if somewhat inadequate) companion in her respiratory arsenal. Ah, but wait—things take a turn for the dramatic in the bone-chilling cold of her frost-laden locale.
Yesterday was the day when all hell broke loose. Our heroine faced an asthma attack unlike any other—spectacularly severe, refusing to budge despite her trusty salbutamol puffs. As she strained for breath, fear gripped her heart, and she gasped out pleas of “help” and “I can’t breathe” on the way to the emergency room.
Enter the Parental Peanut Gallery
Picture this: while our leading lady is gasping desperately for air, her parents decide it’s the perfect moment to channel their inner critics. They describe her as overdramatic, as if grasping for breath is akin to winning an Oscar in melodrama. “You’re not going to die,” they insisted, showcasing their stellar bedside manner skills.
In the ER, the doctor prescribed not one, not two, but three nebulizations, each timed over 20 minutes. To the surprise of absolutely no one, our asthmatic hero reluctantly agreed, resigned to her fate. Little did she know, her adventure was far from over.
Tachycardia: The Unwanted Guest
The plot thickens! As if struggling to breathe wasn’t enough, her body started to tremble. Heart pounding at a wildly impressing 130 beats per minute while at rest, she dared to question her father, “Is this normal?” According to him, nothing was amiss. Heaven forbid our damsel in respiratory distress question her own physical sensations.
Doctor to the Rescue!
Enter Nurse Wonderful, who confirms her tachycardia—caused by the salbutamol—and calls for a breather before finishing the treatment. As if on cue, her dad launches into another tirade about her so-called childish antics and unnecessary panic.
Her mother chimes in, commanding her father to scold her for having the audacity to seek medical reassurance. Our protagonist, now thoroughly peeved, orders her father out, declaring she could manage solo. Not one to miss an opportunity for melodrama himself, he tells her off colorfully but sticks around regardless, suggesting a complex cocktail of concern and stubbornness.
The Great “Am I the Asshole?” Debate
Now, dear readers, our asthmatic heroine finds herself in a quandary. Was she wrong to seek medical help when her life seemed precariously balanced on the razor’s edge of breathlessness? According to her parents, she was overreacting, indulging in tantrums worthy of a toddler. But is that fair?
Roger’s Unfiltered Sass Factory
Let me lay it out plain and simple: Girl, you are definitely NOT the asshole! What part of “I can’t breathe” translates to “I am merely seeking attention” in the realm of human experience? When you’re gasping for air, it’s not the time to channel your inner stoic. Breathing is, let’s face it, a fundamental requirement for… well, living!
Your parents sound like they were hosting a bizarre combo of “Tough Love Theater” and “Straight Talk Spectacular.” But newsflash: asthmatic attacks feel like someone stuffed your lungs with angry, rebellious cats. Breathing is a high-priority activity. You’re not weak for reaching out; you’re smart. They don’t hand out medals for silent suffering.
Parents are often unquestioned bastions of wisdom, but that doesn’t mean they’re always right. In this case, their skepticism bordered on harmful. Your instinct to question the heart palpitations and shaking turned out to be precisely what you needed. You didn’t overreact; you responded to your body’s distress signals. And thank God you did, because our bodies aren’t exactly equipped with a “just kidding” button when something goes terribly wrong.
Parting Wisdom from Roger
For any of you out there doubting your instincts in crises, remember this: your health trumps all notions of stoic bravery. Be dramatic if it means saving your skin. Seek the help you need. And if anyone questions you? Channel your inner sass-master and redirect them to the latest episode of “Mind Your Own Business.” Until next time, keep breathing deeply and living loudly!
Original story
[Translated, I don’t speak English]
I’m 24F, Peruvian, I live with my parents (Here they become independent at 28.)
I have allergic asthma from birth, just like my father. My attacks have always been short and go away with the periodic use of salbutamol but it gets worse in the cold.
In my area there is a strong frost. Yesterday I had one of those asthmatic attacks, I tried to take medication as usual, but nothing worked.
Although I’ve had asthma for years, the last time I had to go to the hospital for it was when I was 12, and even then it wasn’t as bad as it was yesterday.
My parents take me to the ER because I couldn’t breathe enough to speak, my heart was beating quite fast, and I suddenly felt the sensation of dying (I had never felt that in my life before, not even in previous attacks).
I was so afraid of dying that I screamed “help” and “I can’t breathe” during the transfer, to which my parents scolded me saying that I wasn’t going to die and that I was being overdramatic.
When they started to nebulize me, the doctor said that they would have to nebulize me three times in a period of 20 minutes each. Neither my parents nor I wanted to be there for so long, but we had no other option.
My heart was already beating fast during the transfer to the ER, but at the second nebulization my body began to shake.
I asked my father if it was normal, and he told me yes and that nothing was wrong, that they should give me the third round so they can discharge me. It didn’t seem normal to me since I saw that my heart rate was 130 at rest and I was shaking a little.
When the nurse came to connect me, I told her that I was shaking and that my heart was beating quite fast, to which my parents saw me in quite a bad way and, once the nurse left, they scolded me saying that I was being childish, that nothing was wrong. and why the hell was he calling the doctor for something stupid.
When the doctor arrived he told me that I had tachycardia and that it was the side effect of Salbutamol, that they would stop it for an hour until my heart rate returned to normal and thus I can complete the treatment. As soon as he left, my dad started telling me that I shouldn’t be scared in this type of situation because I was too old for this nonsense, and that I should stop acting like a little girl because I was throwing a tantrum over something that was normal.
I told him to leave and that I could go alone when I was discharged, to which he sent me to hell and he stayed in the ER.
And this is what makes me think I might be the asshole: My mother told my father to scold me because “I think I did something good.” I honestly don’t know what I did wrong, but my parents’ attitude confuses me.
In the end they discharged me, my parents never apologized but I still wonder if I was right to ask for medical help in the ER for something “unnecessary” (It doesn’t seem unnecessary to me, but I don’t know if I was really exaggerating without knowing it.)