My Mountain: Beginning the Writing Journey
When I was young, I had asthma. Really bad asthma. Like couldn't breath and had to lay on the couch for days gasping for breath. My parents were going through a holistic stage and didn't believe in medicine. So I drank tinctures (still can't stand the smell of wet sage) and herbal mixtures and cayenne pepper and fresh squeeze grape juice in hopes I'd breath better. I didn't work. Bless their hearts. So for the days I was in the midst of an asthma episode, I'd lie on the couch and dream of the days when I would be strong enough to stand and walk around again. I was scared of running because it triggered my asthma. I'd lie there as my siblings ran off to play or hike or run. I lay there as they laughed and talked around me. Of my eight siblings, I was the only one who had these episodes. They tried to be nice, but I heard them, especially my sister Jayne, talking about how I was so sickly I would surely die young (ah, the thin...