As a child I had little gratitude for the medical improvements. The attacks and the treatments to control it had made me bitter toward the circumstance of asthma and anything associated with it. But as I grew, the inhaler was by my side at all times; the one item I carried everywhere.

One never outgrows asthma, so I suppose I still have it, but rarely does it impact me. On occasion I’ll borrow my wife’s inhaler, and I find myself astounded by its unfailing effectiveness. One inhalation, and the subsequent breath takes me by surprise every time. All of the pressure in my chest is relieved and my breathing is back to normal in less than one second.

This is what a miracle looks like to me. It doesn’t claim to solve a variety of vague ailments; it undeniably solves one. It doesn’t cave under the pressure of carefully controlled studies; rather it performs best in environments free of bias and subjective assessment. It wasn’t the result of unbending tradition and appeals to antiquity; but it was borne from the determination to discover newer and greater technology.

These women and men, made of extraordinary knowledge and ordinary charisma, who developed albuterol, probably didn’t complain about the rigor of testing and publishing results; instead they responded to criticism and took on the challenge of gaining approval. They boldly evaluated potential side effects while proving that their creation was worth the risks.

They didn’t revolutionize a field of science through a revelation, but they stood on the shoulders of those who slowly and diligently ratcheted up their understanding of chemistry and biology through the scientific method. And when they succeeded in their task, I suspect nobody thumbed their nose or shook their fist at the medical establishment, or made mixed claims of success resulting from shifted goalposts. Instead I expect there was a big paycheck for a job well done, likely a round of drinks, and on to the next miracle.