I don’t remember exactly when I got diagnosed as an asthmatic. Some of my earliest core memories are going to a hospital for pneumonia: trundling into a van in the dark; returning home to Slidell and convalescing while watching “The Wizard of Oz” for the first time, a rubbery “Robbie the Robot” from “Lost in Space” in hand.^{1 2} A few years later, on the cusp of Junior High, I would learn the diagnosis word “asthma,” start allergy shots, and begin a medicine regime (a super start to socially-awkward years!)

Since then, I’ve had a rescue inhaler prescription. I used the device less in Europe, even less in the Bay, and a tad bit more in NYC. Across the years, the brands and the actuator look-and-feel have changed, but I can say this: never have I seen a more beautiful inhaler than my current generic albuterol sulfate.

The design is clean and considered - it’s like Wes Anderson worked in pharma. It is, to quote the Old Man from A Christmas Story, “indescribably beautiful.“³