Breathe Easy

A short while ago I saw an ad looking for people to participate in asthma research studies at the U Hospital. I have mild asthma, and was curious, so I contacted to researchers.

They let me know that before participating in any studies, I would attend a prescreening involving an allergy skin test and lung-capacity measurements.

I remember my last allergy skin test vividly...well, as vividly as I can remember something that happened over 20 years ago. I was probably 10-12 years old (see, now you can figure out how old I am today), and had luscious thick hair that hung down far on my back. (The luscious part might be selective memory)

What do lovely locks have to do with allergy tests? Back then, the nurse had me lay on my stomach with my back exposed while she slowly wrote the numbers 1-50 with a ball point pen. Then she slowly, slowly took an eyedropperful of allergen solution from a teeny-tiny bottle, put a drop on my back, replaced the dropper and moved on to the next bottle. I'm already itching from the memory. Then she slowly, slowly, slowly found a sterilized pin and scratched the first drop (I wonder if that nurse had some kind of muscle disorder paralyzing her fast-twitch abilities?), picked up a new sterilized pin and laboriously scratched the second drop. And so on. And so on.

Red welts immediately began rising... itches unscratchable in the name of science. An additional Chinese-torture-level crick developed in my neck after the first 40 minutes of lying prone. You know, the kind that makes a young girl walk around all day with hunched shoulders and a grimace (good thing I was too young to be looking for a date). So (wouldn't you?) I innocently lifted my head and turned it, left to right.

SWOOOSH. My luscious locks swept across the carefully constructed skin canvas, smearing cat dander with dust, swirling dog dander into dogwood pollen (Dogwood trees are the only results of the test I distinctly remember NOT be allergic to).

Sadly (sniff), we had to begin again! You would think that after such an excruciating experience (almost as memorable as natural childbirth, but not nearly as painful as grad school or toilet training), I would have treasured the allergy report for years to come. Maybe I would have put it in my journal. Maybe I would have posted it to my blog if only the internet had been introduced. Not so. Perhaps the most critical scientific data (or at least a contender for position of data collected with maximum pain to myself) of the century was lost, never to be reclaimed.

And so THAT is how I found myself at the U, willingly submitting myself to an allergy and asthma exam. Just to confirm that the reason I sneeze around animals is not psychological.

The good news is that the new device for the scratch test (brilliant!) is a pin with 10 tips, each resting in its own juicy allergen. In one swift and easy motion, the pin is lifted and contacted to the victim's forearm. No long hair or long waiting involved! I learned that I AM still allergic to everything they tested for (grasses, dust, pollens, etc.) . Boy, that was worthwhile.

Now to the good part of the story: the researcher (let's call her Jill) measured and charted my lung capactiy by having me blow into a computer-connected flowmeter. 'Flowmeter' is a fancy name for plastic tube with numbers printed on the side. Nice. On the screen I could watch as I blew - first the enormous puff of initial air, then the trickling, straining, whimpering wheezes that I tried to force out for the next 30 seconds as the plotline (flow vs. time) dropped and dipped. The integral under the curve is my handy lung volume.

Next, she had me use an asthma inhaler.

"But I feel fine! It seems silly to use an inhaler now." I said. I really have mild asthma and use my inhaler, oh, a few times a month. I can't remember the last time I had a serious "attack", although when I'm exercising or having allergies, I can definitely tell when I'm getting tight. No matter, I used the inhaler.

After 10-15 minutes, she had me repeat the flowmeter game. HEY! My lung capacity increased by 15%! Gosh. I had thought I already had all my airways fully open and functional.

Registering my surprise, Jill let me know that it is very common for asthma patients to become accustomed to operating at less-than-optimum breathing ability. One patient who'd gone in for testing shocked her with his low O2-saturation and tiny lung capacity, but didn't seem to be uncomfortable. He commented that everything was "normal" and that he wasn't having an attack. This was the guy who assumed everyone had to labor to get up stairs or mow the lawn. After the test, he was amazed to see the change and paid more attention to his meds. You mean people don't get tired after a single flight of stairs?

So, I'm thinking: around the house and at the store, I probably don't miss my 10-15%. When I start missing 30%, I know something is up and reach for the meds. Without a scientific printout I wouldn't be the wiser during the normal times. But then there's all the jogging, volleyball, racquetball, and aerobics I enjoy;... I wonder if whenever I feel "out of shape" or "pooped out" if those feelings are just the effect of my missing 10%? (I relent that there's a small possibility that I could actually be a woos.)

Next time I play racquetball, I'm planning a preemptive puff. Come out with me and I'll kick your butt (or more likely you'll kick mine slightly less than usual.)