The thickness we breathe
Kathmandu, Jan. 17 -- My aunt would lie on her side on raised pillows, wheezing. She would speak between coughing and wheeze some more. Then she would pull out- what I considered a toy as a child- an inhaler, clamp it in her mouth and press, then suck in for a while before repeating. She would fall asleep when the wheezing eased.
I would soon learn her toy was actually an asthalin inhaler for asthma patients. And in the years that followed, I would soon be using them.
As a school girl, my bag had a pile of books like most children going to mediocre private schools in Kathmandu do. Nestled between them, always, was the inhaler, reading "salbutamol" on its label. I was likely to forget my lunch box some days, but never my inhaler.
My mem...
Click here to read full article from source
To read the full article or to get the complete feed from this publication, please
Contact Us.