I need to invest in Puffs. Specifically, Puffs with lotion.
I kid you not, darling invisible friend, Puffs are a gift beyond measure to one who is riddled with allergies. It's ridiculous how quickly I resemble Rudolph when using other tissues.
Rudolph. The reindeer. No, not the runner. Are you kidding? Have you met me??? The red nosed one. The Christmas song? Ah. There we go.
I am horribly dependent on tissues, like Puffs, because of my stupid allergies, which have taken over my life this week. I'm usually fairly disgusting, nose-wise, but this week has been particularly revolting. Middle of the night sneeze attacks, swollen eyes, nose doing an impression of a faucet...yeah. I feel pretty.
I do love it when I'm working through one of these allergy extravaganzas. Not only is my already excessive handwashing doubled, but I get to have conversations about my general snottiness with many, many patients and coworkers.
"No, I have allergies, not a cold. How do I know? Because colds get better."
Yeah. And I've been around me for a while. Thank you for asking.
"Ha ha! Yes, maybe I am allergic to work!"
Snort. Uh huh. No kidding. Quick! L&I claim!!
"Yes, I have been tested. Evidently, I'm allergic to the planet."
That part is true. I saw a very pleasant allergy doctor a few years ago and experienced the delight of scratch testing. It was really fun. First, lines were drawn on my forearms. Then a different histamine solution was dotted on the ends of each line. Then a sharp implement was used to gouge my skin, forcing the histamine into my body.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Then I was left alone to allow my body time to react to each histamine. Or not react. You understand. It was supposed to be fifteen minutes, but the doctor popped his head in to check on me about half-way through. Or maybe to see if I was experiencing actual anaphylaxis. You know. Just for fun.
"How's it going in here?" he asked cheerfully.
I held out my arms to show a double row of blister-like bubbles on each side.
"Okay," he said, entering the room fully and scrubbing my arms clean of ink and histamines. "You're done."
So, there we are. I'm allergic to everything. Oh, not food! No, no, no. That's crazy talk. But pretty much everything else. I snuffle and I sound like I've had a buffalo shoved up my nose and my eyes water and my ears itch.
Yup. I feel pretty, all right.