This is a story about a boy; an asthmatic and overweight eleven year old from Brooklyn who decided to join his local Boy Scout troop with his first cousin. They were the same age and always did everything as a team, things weren’t about to change. So they jumped in line with the troop, silently promising each other they would not let the one another fall.

Summer camp was around the corner and the boy’s doctor prescribed him an emergency albuterol inhaler that he was to carry with him at all times, just in case he had an acute asthma exacerbation (asthma attack). He never had an asthma attack before, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He was officially stocked and ready to go.

While at camp the troop participated in all the events and activities the camp had to offer, but one of many things that separated this troop from the rest was the early-morning physical training. At the break of dawn each day the scouts would engage in a morning exercise. The boy and his cousin lined up, side-by-side, as always. His cousin was the more athletic one and had no trouble keeping up with the drills and the boy used this as motivation to push himself harder.

After the drills the troop would go for a jog around the camp grounds. The boy was already tired but he got in line with his cousin anyway. No more than a mile into the jog the boy began to feel a shortness of breath come on. This had never happened to him before but he decided to ignore it; he had to keep up with the troop. It wasn’t long before he started wheezing, he was experiencing his first ever asthma attack. He began to panic when he realized his air way had shrunk to the diameter of a straw. Gasping for air he remembered his pump and used it as his doctor instructed. Within a few minutes he was able to catch his breath and return to normal.

One of the leaders instructed someone to escort the boy back to base camp. “NO!!” demanded the young boy, “I don’t want to stop running.” The patrol leaders were left speechless at this boy’s ambition but were skeptical to let him run again, they were obviously concerned for his health. “I’ll just run back myself if you won’t let me” said the boy as he walked back to the front of the line, next to his cousin. The leader shook his head in disbelief and gathered the troop so they could jog back to basecamp together.

Each day after that, the troop would run until the boy had his asthma attack. Shortness of breath and wheezing became a daily routine. He was able to control himself during his attacks and most importantly he learned to never panic. He would take note of where each attack took place and each day he would fight off the next one until he was past his mental marker. He officially became the troop’s half-way point and with each run, that point would grow further and further from base camp; he would never settle for anything less.

By the end of his third summer camp his asthma was obsolete. He really had to push himself to his limits for as much as a single wheeze. He had officially won his battle against asthma…or so he thought. For his fourth summer camp, the troop decided to try something new. Instead of going to the usual camp for two weeks they decided to journey to New Mexico to take part in a ten-day, 102 mile trek through the mountains. The camp was at a much higher altitude than what these scouts were used to (8,000 feet above sea level). Higher altitude meant thinner air, which meant less oxygen by volume, which meant you had to take more breaths for the same amount of oxygen; not the ideal atmosphere for an asthmatic. This was high adventure at its finest and only the most physically fit scouts qualified. The two cousins made the cut.

On their first day they did not do any hiking. They simply went through an orientation and prepared for the next ten days. The troop was split into three separate crews and by chance, the cousins were separated. They would reside in the same camps but the only time they would be separated was when each individual crew was hiking and had water duty. They accepted their fate and retired for good night’s sleep before they set forth in the morning.

The boy was cognizant of the high altitude and change in air pressure and wondered how being 8,000 feet above sea level would affect his asthma symptoms. So on the first day of the trek he purposely pushed himself to induce a controlled asthma attack so he would know what to expect and how to react just in case. He recovered, as usual, and proceeded to take his adventure head on. It wasn’t until day seven that he felt challenged. It was the longest hike he’d ever been on, clocking in at fifteen miles total for the day. On top of that, his crew had water duty that evening and the nearest fill station was three miles away. Once he arrived to camp, the water crew was given a half hour to rest before they made the secondary hike down to the watering hole. The asthmatic boy’s cousin saw the weariness in his eyes and decided to tag along even though his crew did not have water duty; he didn’t mind another six-mile hike.

Once they arrived to the watering hole, they rested for a few minutes and then began to hike back to base. After a day long trek and three-mile hike for water the boy was fatigued; but he had to carry his three gallon jug back to camp. He ignored any signals that he should rest and continued forward; insisting to everyone that he was fine. About halfway through the return trip he felt it; the familiar onset of an asthma attack. As always, he continued until it was inevitable, his asthma attack would be the only thing that would stop him. Once he began wheezing, he put the water jug down.

At first, it seemed like a regular asthma attack. What he had failed to recognize was that even though he already had a minor attack earlier that week, his elevation at the time was 4,000 feet higher; which meant there was even less oxygen by volume in the air. Halfway through his attack he noticed that he was not catching his breath the way he normally would; no amount of air seemed to be enough. And that’s when he remembered that it is not about how much air you inhale, but how much oxygen your blood absorbs per breathe. He tried signaling that this wasn’t normal, shaking his head in fear. His albuterol pump was not helping and for the first time ever during an asthma attack he was afraid. He was way past the halfway point and was approaching suffocation.

As he panicked for breathe, he stared his cousin in the eyes, sure it would be the last time he ever saw him. His cousin had the most disappointing look of failure spread over his face, feeling like he did not live up to their promise; the promise of never letting each other fall. He didn’t know how to react; they simply stared at each other as the boy was approaching his final breaths. His vision began to tunnel and all peripherals were fading to black. He couldn’t speak as he fought for air, unable to say his finals words. “You didn’t fail me” he thought.

It wasn’t until he saw a tear trickle down his cousin’s cheek that he was able to work up the courage to catch his breathe. “NOT NOW!” he thought, “I can’t leave my teammate yet! We have to finish this adventure we started” as he forced himself out of his trance. He snapped out of it and began to relax, running through his regular recovery routine. After a few minutes he was back to normal, except this time he took a look around, appreciating everything that surrounded him. “We thought you were a goner on that one” said his cousin. The boy smiled and replied “I just did it to make you cry” and then they got back into formation and continued their hike back to the camp ground.

Success in life is relative to how you respond to failure. The greatest indication of character is how someone reacts during times of panic and distress. Refusing to fall victim to your greatest fears requires the highest degree of courage. I was moments away from my last breath and all I could think at the time was “I am not giving up now; not yet.” What would you think about if you were approaching your second to last breath?

PS: That was the last asthma attack I ever had.