Bena-drylled

First...Mom and Dad, don't worry...I'm getting better.

Now, here's what allergy season has done to me...

Believe it or not, this is worlds better than I was last night and early this morning when Ann escorted me to the ER. I couldn't really open my eyes as they were prize-fighter swollen shut. Slits of their former selves.

We went to Cherry Hill Hospital (the old Providence Hospital), avoiding the ever popular big-time ER at Harborview (or as the funny nurse who treated me said, "Harbor-zoo") and I was glad we did. No one was in the ER and they whisked me into the back room to do "triage," which I found particularly funny since 1) I was the only patient and it seemed obvious I would therefore be the first priority and 2) it reminded me of M.A.S.H. and the theme song kept playing through my head..."suicide is painless..."

Cindy was our nurse. A big woman with a very dry sense of humor and a shuffle to her walk. During our time there we found out that she'd previously worked as a parachute jumper for the Coast Guard, a bronco and bull rider in the rodeo, and that she and her "wife" owned 25 acres in Lewis County where they owned numerous animals who all thought they were dogs. Cindy did the bulk of the work on me, though I did see the doctor for about a minute -- he stated the obvious (allergic reaction) and prescribed a list of drugs that Cindy then administered through an IV she "plumbed" into me -- "Im good at this," she reassured me, "I used to be a plumber." And then she laughed, just one single snort and shuffled over to the computer to input my vitals.

Within minutes I could feel the relief, though the back of my throat felt like a wind tunnel filled with dry ice. I coughed and coughed to which Cindy pronounced, "Good! It's working!"

Within 90 minutes I was walking back to the car steadying myself on Ann. They'd pumped me full of steroids and more benadryl even though I'd taken a full dose before I'd arrived at the ER. "Sleep," Cindy ordered. "Lay low for the whole day. You're gonna feel a bit woozy."

I've slept. I ate lunch. I downed some good chocolate followed by some cheap chocolate. I've doused myself in bottle after bottle of water and watched for hairs to grow on my chin. "Does this mean I can compete in the Tour de France?" I asked Cindy as I was leaving.

"You ain't competing in nothing today, my dear!" she quipped back and then shuffled into the next room to triage another patient.

I'm up now, but shakey. I've taken yet another dose of benadryl and am waiting for it to slip me into yet another rubbery sleep. Ann's off to the pharmacy to pick up more steroids and an extra box of benadryl so I don't run out. By tomorrow, I'm hoping, I'll look fairly normal. I had Ann take pictures so I can show my doctor who has yet to see how bad these allergies really get. Then a referral to an allergist who will hopefully nail down exactly what does this to me and prescribe a medication that can subdue the attacks.

Rubin has been a good nurse. He had puppy class this morning with Ann and I was uanble to attend, so when he returned, he laid by the couch where I slept and dreamed his own little puppy dreams.

Meanwhile I'm hoping for rain and a quick recovery though this time I think it might take a bit longer. I'm looking forward to the day when I won't have to curse the warm weather or spend my days shuffling around in a benadryl haze. But for now, it's the couch for me and more water and perhaps some more bad chocolate to pass the time.

Really, mom and dad, I'm okay. And sorry Bookworm and Fossilguy that I didn't make it to your house. We shall come...I promise...with gifts of rhubarb pie and a puppy at our sides to meet you. Besides, I wouldn't want to scare you looking like this, FG!