About a year ago, every time Stryker picked up his pace, he started complaining about an inability to breathe. Run around the block or frolic on the playground?
Stryker, clutching his chest and staggering: "I. Can't. Catch. My. Breath."
No wheezing, no coughing and he looked damn fine to the Matron.
Matron: "That's not asthma. That's exertion."
Still, she took her son to the doctor, who referred her to the pediatric pulmonologist, who had Stryker breath into a variety of machines and do a few hand stands, all of which provided empirical evidence of stellar, A+ airways.
She assumed this was the end of the story, that strong regular breathing and all, but then the doctor said this: "Let's just treat him for asthma anyway."
Say what! Thought the Matron.
Then Dr. Pulmonologist launched into a lengthy explanation about how tricky, how cunning, how darn-right difficult to discern, exercise-induced asthma can be. How dangerous! Why, her child could collapse, right after a hard turn on the monkey bars.
So they left with an inhaler, a prescription for Claritin, and an asthma notebook for charting symptoms. The first week, Stryker used that inhaler every time he walked upstairs.
Stryker: "This stuff is eery, Mom. Makes me light-headed."
Her little junkie! Anyway, after that week of walkin' on the wild side, Stryker put down that inhaler and never snorted the goods again.
But! Even so, every time he ran or played, he fell to the side, complaining about his asthma!
Stryker (clutching chest and gasping): "I. Can't. Breathe."
Matron: "That's exertion."
Because the complaints continued, the Matron took Stryker for the one year follow up, during which it was discovered (at her request) that her son had ZERO allergies and--after an hour in which exercise was induced (they put the potential asthma victim on a treadmill set for a steep steep hill ) -- it was determined beyond a shadow of a doubt that Stryker did not have asthma. Indeed, he has Olympian lung power.
Now, the end of the story? That would be too normal. Remember, this is the Matron talking!
Dr. Pulmonologist had a new diagnosis. "Vocal Cord Dysfunction."
The Matron thought perhaps she was his new play thing: Let's String This One Along.
Of course, it turns out any body part can dysfunction! Vocal cord collapse. Who knew?!
Now Stryker has a new appointment, in another hospital with a whole bunch of new doctors to waste her time for a problem he probably doesn't have. Indeed, she will bet his non-existent college fund (that's another story), that her little apple swings a wee bit toward the hypochondria end of the sanity spectrum.
Just like his Mama.