I have a new superhero name...
Click to viewOne of my all-time favorite improv skits was Whose Line Is It, Anyway?'s "Superheroes" (above). Well, I have a new name, but it sounds more like a supervillain...
So I get home last night and my asthma starts to act up. I mildly needed my albuterol (crisis) inhaler once or twice in the past couple of weeks, so I have upped my asthma regimen to the full deal: Flovent 2x morning and 2x evening, a steroid inhaler, to reduce inflammation; Flonase 1x eve, a nose-squirter, to keep the sinuses open; and Zyrtec, an anti-allergy pill. But I can't find my inhaler. I ransack the likely places in the house, dumping bags and containers on the dining room table. It's bad enough to be uncomfortable, but not bad enough to justify an ER visit. I remember that I had taken my backup inhaler to work the week before; I must have left it there. I make a cup of Breathe Easy herbal tea, quaff a BronkAid (a pill of dubious effect, but it's all I've got), and resign myself to wheezing uncomfortably all night.
During the ransack, I discover that my steroidal inhaler, which I use loyally, is completely empty. I might have breathing just air instead of aerosolized steroids for days, possibly weeks, without realizing it. Duh! No wonder it's gotten worse!
It occurs to me, three hours of wheezing later, as I get ready for bed, that my CPAP machine will either help (its filtered and humidified air) or be really uncomfortable. The CPAP is a full face mask (see icon) full of pressurized air which forces my throat open and avoids (treats is too strong a word) sleep apnea. While I sit there wondering if forcing pressurized air into my asthma-constricted bronchial tubes will result in my palate exploding upward into my brain, I have my epiphany.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. What other gizmo do I have in the house? My albuterol bong! Also known as a home nebulizer, I got it during my last really bad asthma spell. I load it up with a 0.083% albuterol sulfate solution and smoke the mist for 20 mins. Instant relief, and frankly a bit of a buzz.
So now I have a new title. I am "Breathing Machine Man"! Here's the opening scene from the trailer for my upcoming movie....
We are in a wooden-paneled drawing room; old fashioned gaslights dot the walls and large red velvet curtains are across the tall windows. On a pedestal sits an anachronistic small grey plastic machine, from which extends a 3' tube with a clear plastic mouthpiece. I step in, dressed in a steampunky late 19th century suit, elaborate goggles hanging loosely around my neck, followed by a well-dressed butler wheeling a teacart with breakfast laid out upon it. Butler is every inch the gentleman's gentleman.
Breathing Machine Man ('BTM'): It's morning, and I'm rarin' to go. Let see what's on the World Crisis Monitor!
Butler: You know stress triggers your attacks, sir. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a calm promenade in the park with the shih-tzu? He fusses with the breakfast tray, looking concerned.
BTM: Nonsense! Someone out there, needs to be brought here, for my help! Fetch my sidekick and warm up the Asthmobile for him. No doubt he will need it today! Butler bows and leaves.
BTM presses on a panel. A hidden switch activates the wall, which reveals a Get-Smart style TV monitor surrounded by colorful flashing lights and a giant dial. BTM twirls the dial and the TV activates. We see footage of ruined Port au Prince. I start to wheeze asthmatically.
BTM: Oh dear! Earthquakes...wheeze...wheeze... in Haiti! I twirl the dial again, and put my hands on my knees. My breathing is getting more difficult. Mournful, swollen-bellied children stare up at the monitor, flies buzzing over their lips and eyes.
BTM: Oh ..wheeze...no! Famine in Ethiopia! Not...wheeze...again! I twirl the dial again. Former President George Bush is bent over a table in a comfortable living room. A football game is playing in the background. Bush is grabbing at his throat, signalling wildly to the camera, gesticulating dramatically for help. His thrashing arm hits a giant bowl on the table, scattering bright orange Cheetos everywhere.
BTM: Whuff..whuff..can't...breathe...must...use...Nebulizer!
I stumble to the pedestal, grasping my chest with one hand as I go, and hit a switch on the device. A loud mechanical noise starts up as I bring the pipe-shaped mouthpiece to my lip. Wisps of mist come out of the other end as I start to breathe more normally. I stand up straight and turn to the door, which is opening. On the monitor behind me, Bush drops to his knees, turns more purple, and starts shuffling on his knees towards the monitor.
Butler enters the room. He wheels before him a large wooden and brass cart, on top of which rests a heavy iron cylinder, about 5 feet long, covered in large rivets and streaks of rust. Numerous tubes and wires lead down into the enclosed underside of the cart. A young boy's head extrudes from one end; he's wearing a bright orange spandex hood over his head and neck, leaving only his face exposed. I stride towards the boy, stopping abruptly at the maximum length of my tubing, pipe still in my mouth. Butler exits.
BTM: (slightly distorted as I speak with my mouth around the pipe) Excellent! I'm glad you're here! I need you take the Asthmobile, fetch former President Bush, and bring him here so that I can rescue him within the radius of my Nebulizer! I turn to face outwards and address the movie audience directly. Behind me, Bush reaches out and smooshes his face against the monitor. We can see orange dust from the Cheetos smeared over his lips and chin. The orange is contrasting brightly against the darkening purple of his face. My face grows solemn and fraught with importance.
Music. The heavy guitar chords of Black Sabbath's Iron Man begin.
BTM: Yes...we must save the former President...this is another World Crisis for Breathing Machine Man and his rusty sidekick, Iron Lung Boy!
Over the music, a mechanized voice begins to speak. Between each word, there is a hyper-lengthened, indrawn, wheeze.
Voiceover: I....wheeze.....am....wheeze.....Breathing....wheeze.....Machine...wheeze.....Man!
End scene.