Hey Doc, it’s me again. I’ve been having some issues. My medical condition has prevented me from doing my everyday activities. I am conflicted: Do I forgo my health for what society deems acceptable? Or do I stand up for myself and my values, although it may not be the “cool” thing to do? I am utterly and wholly stuck. Doc, I really want to vape, but I can’t because of my mild seasonal asthma. It might literally kill me, but it looks so cool.
The first time I vaped, everything happened so fast. Chad handed me a handsome, silver-backed vape pen, called “The Annihilator,” and with trembling hands, I drew in the biggest breath I had ever taken in my life. For one glorious moment, I felt the nicotine, mixed with propylene glycol and glycerin, manifest in my lungs and I felt that sweet, sweet burn. Approximately two seconds later, I felt a small tickle in my throat. I tried to politely cough, but what initially was a southern-belle’s “ahem,” turned into violent hacking from a bubonic-plague-ridden chimney sweep. Doc, I was so ashamed that I crouched like a wounded animal as I tried to sneak a puff of my inhaler and dowse the fire which was erupting in my lungs. Everybody was staring. I tried to explain to the kids that my inhaler was a new fancy vape called “The Bullet,” but nobody was buying it. That terrible night marked the end of my reign as “Queen B of U.V.a.”
What do I do, Doc? I am becoming a social pariah within the University. One Friday night, after studying for hours in Clem, I took the bus home to my apartment. I was minding my own business, until I caught a glimpse of smoke in the corner of my eye. I prayed that it was just a trick of the lights or an optical illusion; heck, maybe somebody was performing a magic trick. I was kidding myself. It was a vape fiend. It’s just one vape fiend, I told myself — I could handle that. My stop was next and I just had to hold my breath for approximately three minutes. Suddenly, my eyes began to water. Everything became blurry and through my obscured vision, I saw every single passenger on the bus, slowly pull out a vape in unison. Somehow, some way, they knew I had mild seasonal asthma.
My hand tightened around my inhaler in my pocket, ready for action. I can see my bus stop in the distance. The passengers placed the vapes in their mouths as the bus pulled to my stop. Smoke encircled me. Sweatshirt pulled up over my mouth, armed with inhaler in hand, I pushed past the drunk, vaping teens. I see freedom in the distance, and I can almost taste the clean, fresh air. As I staggered off the bus, the bus driver grabbed my shoulder, whipped me around, looked at me straight in the face, and whispered: “Wanna vape, weenie?” I saw the smoke reflected in his eyes, and I swear I saw the devil. Doc, I have never wanted to dance with the devil before, but at that moment, I wanted to tango with Lucifer. Doc, I wanted to vape.
I don’t know what to do. It’s everywhere — on the buses, in the gardens, required for my philosophy class. I’m trapped in a world where the thing I love the most will give me a mild asthma attack. In your professional opinion, is there a known cure to asthma? Have the doctors found some sort of antidote yet? Can we possibly fashion an inhaler in the shape of a vape pen? Please let know as soon as possible. I await your correspondence with bated breath because it’s the only breath I can keep nowadays.
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