The stories of Bryan Young

When I was twelve years old I was diagnosed with severe asthma. Breathing was a lesson in futility. I couldn’t run anymore, I put on ten pounds and got called “The Fat Kid” at school. Before my asthma I was lean and had an easy charm for a snot-nosed pre-pubescent kid. After I acquired asthma, I spent half of every thought on keeping my breath. It seemed to doctors as though I had a rare case insofar as so many things seemed to trigger severe attacks. I was missing weeks of school at a time. They switched me from one school to another, hoping that would help, but nothing did. It was a matter of blind luck that we had insurance. Perhaps the planets were aligned for a brief moment. We never had any access to health care when I was a kid. I’m not sure if it was a matter of not being able to afford it for my father as much as a matter of not wanting to be able to afford it. I think I went to the dentists three times in my first eighteen years of life (each time