Breathing Guilt
by Caroline Hellman

When I was little, say, under 10, my asthma was often a problem. I remember frequent trips to the pediatrician and the allergist in attempts to decrease the number of allergens and instigators in my life, and therefore, decrease the number of asthma attacks (otherwise known as a "wheeze-bo," a term courtesy of my father, who happens to be a physician.

For the most part I could do pretty much anything, except run the mile in gym class. I could alternate jogging and walking in my white Reebok high tops with blue and white striped laces, or I could walk. The one time I tried to run I had a very bad asthma attack and had to spend time in the nurse's office before being picked up by my worried mother. There were a couple of other kids who were in the same boat, and for some reason, I admit that I always resented them. Did they really have asthma, I wonder? Were they faking it?

And did other people think I was faking it? This was hard to contemplate.