It Could Be Worse

Eight years ago I was struck by allergies. Tree pollen set me off and instead of a runny nose and sneezing, I looked as if someone had hauled off and hit me square in both eyes. Red, swollen and flakey, two circles formed around my eyes making me look like a sad raccoon. I went to my doctor at the time, she prescribed some medication and within a week, I was relatively back to normal.

That was eight years ago and I've never had any reaction to tree pollen since.

Except this month. Walloped. That's the only way to describe it. I knew what was happening even before it fully happened. My eyes teared up, my lids itched intensely, and before I knew it, I woke up in the morning unable to open my swollen eyes. I fumbled downstairs, found an ice pack, and pressed it onto my burning eyes. I had to work that day and getting a doctor's appointment was going to take time...time I didn't really have.

So I suffered for about three days before my teaching partner said...here are the keys to my car (I walk to work)...go!

My doctor is an earth-goddess. She's in her early 60's with wide hips and gloriously long, silver hair that glows like a halo whenever she walks into a room. She embraces me, her full arms taking me in for a warm hug that lasts long enough to make me feel comfortable and loved. She sits on her stool, her knees wide apart, and places her elbows on her thighs. "How are you?" she'll often start and then listen while I talk about my life. She even asks questions about work, about my eating habits, and about my nemisis -- stress. She takes her time. I never feel rushed. I feel as if she really cares so the struggle to get an appointment is well worth it.

This time, when I walked into her office, she took one look at me and said, "Oh honey, this doesn't look good." I cried immediately, adding salt to my already burning eyes.

We talked about stress. We talked about tree pollen. We talked about my need for a week in the desert. We talked about eight years ago when the same affliction struck and compared my life then with my life now.

Often, since she is both a naturopath and MD, she offers me a choice -- do I want a traditional treatment or should we try something more alternative? I'm more likely to choose the alternative first and then, if that doesn't work, get the drugs. This time, though, she said, "You don't get a choice. We're going for the drugs and then, if that doesn't clear up the irritation, we're going for a short burst of steroids."

The prescription worked with in 24 hours, but then we travelled to Santa Fe for a vacation (the desert, right?) and all hell broke loose again. The tree pollen was even thicker in the high altitudes of New Mexico and my medications had no effect. When we flew home, over the Cascades into the lowland valley of Seattle, the burning irritation reduced somewhat, but not until the first heavy rain did I actually feel any relief.

The medication, while it doesn't make me sleepy, clouds my thinking. Sentences form slowly. I forget things like my keys or appointments. This morning I lathered my hands with my special lotion, ready to apply it to my eyes when I found myself applying it to my hair as if it were gel and not lotion.

My eyes look much better. We've had a number of days of rain though today looks partly cloudy and feels a bit warmer. While I love trees, I look at them with caution, admiring their blooms from far away. My medication is taken every 24 hours and an hour before the clock makes its full turn, I can feel the need for the drug.

I am not a good patient for I am exactly what a patient shouldn't be -- impatient. I want it to be over. I want the pollen to disappear. I want to be able to walk outside without fear that I'll be a raccoon again.

Today, a friend called and when I asked how she was she said, "Miserable." She'd been suffering with a migraine for 3 days and the cause? Yes, allergies.

I thought I had it bad. For weeks I've prayed that I could just sneeze or wheeze or have a running nose, that the itchy eyes and swollen lids would end. But when Elizabeth reported her reaction, I was thankful the raccoon. "It's like a knitting needle in my eye," she said, "I feel as if my head is literally going to explode off my neck."

She's better today. The rain of last night has dampened her reaction just enough that she could get out of bed and make a call. "Jesus," she said, "I'm even laughing. Laughing last night would have killed me."

I'm not sure why I'm writing about this, but just like with Elizabeth's phone call this morning, it feels good to talk about it, to share your misery in an attempt to alleviate it. When I realized my pain was nothing compared to Elizabeth's plight, my eyes didn't itch so much. I suppose that's cold comfort for her, but I guess it just supports that old addage...it could be worse.

Please, if there is a god, NO!