I don't look any different on the outside, although you may see my inhaler hooked to my belt loop. But on meeting me, you would never guess that I have asthma. It's one of those semi-invisible illnesses, one where you don't know about it unless I told you or you saw me taking my medicine.

I'm like many other people in that I don't like taking medicine, especially around other people. Inhalers are no exception, as they're different than most medicines, say cold or pain meds. This is because they scream out, "I have asthma!" to everyone who seems them, and that people don't get what asthma really is. I've gotten so many questions from friends about my asthma and heard so many misconceptions about it.

"Wow! That's a big inhaler," is one I get all the time when I use my spacer with my inhaler. But I'd much rather get asked, "What is that for?" I sometimes dread carrying around my spacer with me for this reason, even though I know that it is a huge help to getting the medicine in my lungs, and I've seen more than one adult using spacer. They're not just for kids.

"Oh! You have asthma! My __________ (insert name or title here) used to have asthma, but she outgrew it. Can't you outgrow yours?" This is my least favorite. "Um. I seem to have 'grown into' my asthma, and you never really 'outgrow' asthma." This one is really not encouraging to me, even though I know whoever's saying it has good intentions.

"Can you really run and exercise with your asthma? Are you sure that's really a good idea?" Yes, I can exercise, though it takes me a bit longer to be ready to do so. Still, I LOVE to run. And really, exercise helps me to breathe better overall.

I used to think that asthmatics were "different" - until I became one myself. And really, we're just special. I love to high-five all the people I meet who have asthma. Though having asthma isn't fun, that doesn't mean I can't encourage other people like me. So what? I have a giant pile of meds I have to take and I often feel like my pile is slowly increasing, but that doesn't make my personality any different than it used to be. Yeah, I have days that I can't do things when friends and professors try to make me, but I'm really not faking it. I really can't do much else when I can hardly breathe.

Imagine someone sitting on your chest, or how about a physical therapy band wrapped around your lungs? Or you can get air in, but part of it gets trapped and stays inside. . . . building pressure. . . OUCH!

Just because you don't know what it's like doesn't mean it's not happening to me. Your ignorance doesn't help me breathe better.

Asthma is more than "just asthma." When I get sick, things get really bad and often faster than I dream possible. I've been to the emergency room more than once, and this includes in the middle of the night. Yeah, asthma is a part of me and at times a significant part of me, but there's WAY more to me than my lungs. I love to read, sew, run, have fun, laugh, take pictures, play, and more. I'd much rather talk to people about other stuff, but it is also important that they know what to do when I have an attack. And please don't make me walk into the emergency room when I'm too short of breath to even whisper a half-sentence and sit up straight.

Take a bit of time to learn better what asthma really is. And that it's different in everyone. I have plenty of friends who only have symptoms mildly here and there, but I have them nearly every day of the week, with varying intensity. Take the time to learn about asthma and somewhere down the road, an asthmatic will really appreciate the time you took to do so.

Really, I'm serious.

It's more than "just asthma;" it's a part of my life.

-- by MC of Run 2 Win

My shoes say something about who I am; my lungs do not.

-- by Kerri of Hold Your Breath to Breathe

Asthma is a lot of things. It's an annoyance. It's never easy to go somewhere. Even just an afternoon at a friend's house requires making sure that we have medication and spacers. To go on vacation requires more medication and nebulizer machines. If we're flying, it requires notes and prescriptions from the doctor.

School requires different medication and different spacers. More notes from doctors. Directions on how to handle flares. What to do and sometimes, more importantly, what NOT to do.

Asthma is being on a first-name basis with the local pharmacist. It's having pharmacy employees know you before you even ask for medication you're looking for.

Asthma is limiting. It stops my daughter from experiencing life like other children. Not always because she physically can't do something, though that does happen, but often because she's AFRAID she won't be able to breathe.

Asthma is fear. Not just my daughter's, but mine as well. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the known. Fear when she's coughing and can't stop. . . . then the fear when she DOES stop. Fear of the effects of the medication that she needs to keep breathing.

Asthma is loneliness. People don't get it. They don't understand what it is to be afraid. They don't see what goes on at night, when the coughing won't stop and I'm afraid to go to sleep.

Asthma is many things. One thing it is NOT is "just asthma."

-- by Sara of Perfect Imperfection

This is asthma.

Every day, living out a new variation on the same theme of this juxtaposition: sick girl/healthy girl.

-- by Danielle of Life With These Lungs

Asthma is living life with Jekyll and Hyde lungs.

When things are good, you're almost normal. You can breathe well, exercise, work, play, and so on. You have to take your medication every morning and night, but by and large you can do whatever you want to.

Unless Mr. Hyde comes out.

You may or may not have warning that Mr. Hyde is coming. If you have warning, you have time to get to a doctor and talk to them about it, and hopefully prevent Mr. Hyde from coming out at all. You even have medicine that can temporarily prevent him from coming out ("rescue" inhalers). But if you don't deal with it, he will come out, and sometimes you have no warning at all.

Imagine that Mr Hyde is only detectable by voice to people other than yourself. His voice is usually a wheeze. If you're unlucky enough to not be a wheezer, people don't realize he's there, even as you cough and cough and cough and never feel like you're getting enough air. To those people who can't feel what he does, if he's not talking, he's not there. Mr Jekyll must be present. They say that your problem is in your head, and that because you're anxious, you must have an anxiety problem... never mind that as they tell you this, Mr Hyde is having a merry time wrecking your lungs and you're coughing and coughing and coughing. Your chest might hurt from irritation, or you might pull a muscle. I've bruised ribs with my asthma alone. Your chest feels like someone tied something tightly around it and you can't seem to breathe in enough. Your lungs burn because you can't exchange air well, and all the while, people might be telling you that getting upset because you feel like you're suffocating means that you have an anxiety problem.

You'll learn to hate the question, "Do you think it might be anxiety?" and all its variants, because no matter how many times you try to explain it, they never understand that feeling like you're suffocating on nothing would make anyone anxious, and it's a logical reaction to not being able to breathe.

Most of the time, you can keep Mr Hyde at bay. Most of the rest of the time, you can force him away with your rescue medicine. Sometimes, though, the rescue medicine doesn't work. Then you have to go the the emergency room, and put up with all the hated questions all over again, and if you're really unlucky or your asthma attack is really bad, you can end up hospitalized, on a ventilator, or even dead.

To prevent that, you take medicine every day. I take six to maintain my lungs, I also have my rescue medication just in case he gets out. You absorb the cost of your medicines, even if you're a student living far below the poverty line but ineligible for financial assistance because you're a student, and they cost you half your paycheck each month because living on Mr. Noodles and vitamin pills is better than not being able to breathe. If you're a student that's lucky enough to have insurance, you spend far too much time fighting with the insurance company every time your doctor wants to change your medications, and though you might be able to afford to eat real food now, you still can't ever go out, unless you're dumb enough to have a choice between a night out and breathing and decide that the night out is worth it.

And then there's the social side of it. Your relatives, friends and coworkers are likely split three ways between those who are supportive and understanding, those who really don't care one way or the other, and those who think you're a hypochondriac or under the sway of a Big Pharma conspiracy or whatever else have you. The first group are good but overprotective - they might drive you crazy with the well-intentioned nagging. The middle can take or leave you and you them. The final group will drive you crazy with well-intentioned but utterly off-the-mark advice, ranging from, "You just need to exercise more and stop those drugs and you'll be fine!" to "Try this snake oil that someone with absolutely no medical training but a nice-sounding pitch sold me the other day!"

A lot of them just simply don't get it. You look like you're fine, so you must be fine, right? I don't resent them for it: I wish everyone had the good fortune to have no idea what it's like; to not get it. Sometimes it gets frustrating because they're trying to relate and they can't, and you're trying to explain and you can't. Sometimes it's exhausting to try to function while Mr Hyde is at play. Sometimes it gets lonely when you just want to talk with someone who gets what it's like when Mr. Hyde comes out.

Sometimes, it makes you realize what great friends you have, when they cover your work for you at literally three minutes notice. It makes you treasure the things that those who always breathe well take for granted: Running, jumping, climbing trees, taking part in a martial arts class, and so on. It makes you realize how bad things can be, but also how good they can be.

Life with asthma is life. With Jekyll and Hyde lungs.

-- by Asthma Mom reader Sarah

I want your personal accounts, your photos, your videos. . . .anything that answers the question,

What's life like with asthma?

Send your contribution
http://www.theasthmamom.com/contact-me/

Sam Linton flared for almost four hours at Offerton high school in Britain, and no one called an ambulance.

One teacher, Jan Ford, made him sit in the hall, struggling to breathe, despite the red alert attached to his name.

By the time his mother reached the school, he was gray and his lips were blue.

He died in the hospital two hours later.

He was 11 years-old.

Asthma is more complicated than it seems, and media portrayal of it often undercuts the seriousness.

It's never "just asthma."

This collection of stories and images will hopefully set the record straight.