So Many Allergies, So Little Time

I have allergies. Terrible allergies. I haven't written anything in a few days because I've basically been in pain, tired and Motrined out. My allergist says it's the Santa Anas. That I'm not alone. To be honest, my allergist's office is actually the only place I like to know that other people are suffering. Or at least feeling what I am. Otherwise I would just worry that I'm old, crazy and cranky. And that would be bad.

My sister had allergies before I did. Ever since she was growing up. We used to think she was lazy. Because she would spend the whole day in bed. But what else was she going to do on a farm when she was allergic to the whole outdoors? You would have thought we would have clued in. If not me, then at least the adults in the situation. But that would be a 'no'. And you would have thought when I was in my 20s and hit with similar symptoms that I'd have seen the correlation. Again, a 'no'. The good news? I wasn't the only one not catching on-- neither did my ear, nose and throat guy. Evil little man that he was. Okay, maybe not evil. Just mean. He told me I needed to get my head examined. (Incidentally, the head examining did happen. But for entirely different reasons. And that was later, much later. Which makes me wonder...why does no one tell you information that you need when you actually need it?).

So as it turned out, I'm also extremely allergic to the outdoors. I'm pretty much biosphere material (as previously mentioned somewhere back in this blog). And a biosphere is probably about as big as a studio apartment... so maybe I'm onto something. Not to mention, I did love that Boy in the Plastic Bubble movie which is arguably John Travolta's best work (much like I think Andy was the coolest Gibb). There are benefits to being in a biosphere, I think. One, being single as I am at my age, no one would ask me what was wrong with me. It would be obvious. Two, someone would bring me dinner or make me dinner because making my own food would ostensibly melt my bubble. Which means I would have company! Three, what bad jobs could you possibly do in a bubble?

You might think I'm making light of the situation. But I'm not. Really. It's just, let's be honest. The biosphere. It's not happening. It's but a mere pipe dream. So instead, I get shots every week. And pay for parking at Cedars Sinai. Along with stocking up on boxes and boxes of Claritin D, the 24 hour kind, which I take on a daily basis. And over the counter? Not so cheap. And still, with that, I'm pretty forgetful. Not to mention, I don't feel quite so motivated or capable of fixing my life when I feel bad and tired and cranky. Which in my situation, is not so good. Because I could use a little fixing.

There are times, have been times, that my shot has caused an allergic reaction. Which I must say made me happy only in that finally, physically, people saw that my allergies were real. It also meant lots of uncomfortable itching, scratching, and welts all over my body. There were also some hot flashes thrown in for good measure (as an exciting sneak preview of what's to come) and my throat closing up and me making a phone call to my doctor's office after which I was told to rush back NOW!, But I was kind of distracted by the elevator clearing out at the sight of me. The guy I was dating, convicted felon or not, seeing a not so lovely side of me.

In the end, it was all well and fine. Those kinds of things never freak me out as much as they should. A shot in one hip, a breathing tube down my throat, I'm fine. Because that's at least on some level, validation. It's the other stuff in life that gives me pause. An allergic reaction, there's that illusion you can fix it. There's a diagnosis. And a treatment.

If life were only that easy.