Advair Saved My Life At Hunting Camp 2011

By 2011, my asthma was well-controlled. However, "well-controlled" didn’t mean I was entirely symptom-free. During the first week of October that year, I joined our family's hunting camp, and it was during this trip that I experienced one of the worst asthma episodes I’d had in a long time.

I arrived at camp feeling great, with no reason to worry about asthma symptoms. Although, in the back of my mind, I had plenty of reasons to be concerned—it was hunting camp, a place where I’d had many asthma attacks in the past. Still, when your asthma is doing well, you tend to forget you have it. This is something I’ve written about often in my posts about "Asthma Forgetfulness."

The day went smoothly. I enjoyed some beer, hung out with the guys, and even joined a game of cards in the cabin. But later that evening, my Uncle Timmy decided it was the perfect night to light the bonfire. Throughout the year, various family members had brought scrap wood, old doors, and other materials from home projects to camp, and it all went into the fire pit. What followed was a massive bonfire.

At first, the fire was enjoyable. The blaze lit up the entire woods, though it was pitch black otherwise. I stood by the fire, feeling fine, until it started to die down, leaving behind red-hot coals and a lot of smoke. That’s when I felt the familiar rumble of asthma in my chest. Who knows what had been in that fire—there might have even been a tire or a couch thrown in there. Who knows what chemicals I’d inhaled.

I began to feel tightness in my chest but didn’t think much of it at first. I was still enjoying my drink, after all. Then I walked into the cabin. The gaslight was on, and my brother Tony was sitting on the couch to the left of the door, smoking a cigar. The moment I inhaled his smoke, it triggered a severe asthma flare-up.

I sat down, trying to stay calm while the guys continued playing Pinochle around the table. I felt so tight in my chest that it was hard to sit still. After everyone went to bed, I stayed up, sitting hunched over, trying to keep my shoulders high just to breathe. I was miserable.

I thought about waking my brother David, who hadn’t been drinking, to ask for a ride home. But I’d had too much to drink myself and felt stuck. I couldn’t help myself, and I didn’t want to wake anyone else. So I sat there, in the silence of the night, struggling to breathe.

Eventually, I walked to my caravan and sat in the front seat, gasping for air. Around 1 a.m., out of desperation, I used my Advair inhaler, even though I had already used my Albuterol multiple times. I didn’t expect the Advair to help, but at that point, my breaths were so shallow I felt panicked. I didn't think to wake up my brother David, who later told me he would have gladly given me a ride. But when you're in a situation like that, panic can cloud your thinking.

Sixteen minutes after using the Advair, I was suddenly able to take a deep breath. It felt like a miracle. It reminded me of the asthma attacks I’d had as a kid that were miraculously relieved by an epinephrine shot. Here I was, in the depths of a miserable night with severe asthma, and all of a sudden, I could breathe easily again—thanks to my Advair inhaler.

I slept that night in the back of my minivan. I didn’t have a pillow or blankets, just the hard surface to lie on. But despite that, I slept well, comforted by the revelation of how much my Advair had helped me. This was the moment I realized that, despite what the FDA had said, LABA inhalers could work wonders—not only for controlling asthma but also for stopping asthma attacks in their tracks.