In the past three weeks I seem to have developed either sporadic leprosy or an allergic reaction to who knows what. I have no idea what the catalyst could be. The circumstances surrounding the outbreaks have no commonality except that I was breathing.
It all started at Wal-Mart. I was supposed to be grocery shopping when I spied the ubiquitous yellow clearance sticker beckoning me to the jewelry section. Right there between the giant hoop earrings and Ying Yang key chains, my ears started to swell. Not being accustomed to the swelling of the ears, it felt like my head was changing into an Edvard Munch creation.
Then my lips started tingling and swelling into Angelina Jolie proportions. You'd think this might be a good thing, but no, this did not look good. Everything turned hot, like I was standing in the sauna, except I still had clothes on. When the hives appeared, and I began scratching every inch of exposed skin, I decided to forgo the groceries and go home. Mind you, I still bought the earrings.
Half way home I began wheezing and gasping for breath. By the time I walked through the door I was doubled over in abdominal pain. My husband was understandably disappointed there were no groceries.
A quick trip to the local ER establishment confirmed I am indeed allergic to “something.” With a prescription for steroids and one epi pen later, I was on my merry hive-free way.
I’ve had five or six of these phantom allergy induced anaphylactic reactions. While I can’t pin point the culprit, I have learned not to take Benadryl right before I’m supposed to teach a class and, word to the wise: DO NOT move leg when using an epi pen.
I’m simply at a loss as to what could be causing these odd reactions. Perhaps it’s the unearthly business going on next door. Perhaps I’m allergic to dirt mounds, beeping trucks or men in yellow hats earning prevailing wage. I’m thinking that maybe I could get some compensation from this here big sewer project. Part of that compensation would include Botox and liposuction. Let’s face it, this whole mess has caused premature aging and emotional eating binges.
When I told my mother about my allergic reactions, her first response was,” I bet my chiropractor could help.”
“What will your chiropractor do for my mystery allergy? Twist and contort me like a wet towel until he can snap the antibodies right out or maybe make me an organic necklace to ward off bad allergy spirits?”
“He could help build a wall of tolerance.” I’m beginning to wonder if my mother has transferred some sort of divine quality onto her bone cracker.
I resisted the urge to point out that if one doesn’t know what one is allergic to, how will one build a wall around it and just how many walls will one have to build before I’m tolerant to whatever it is that I’m intolerant to?
“Are you sure you’re not thinking of an exorcist? Maybe you’re thinking he could scare the allergy right out of me.”
“Don’t make fun of chiropractors. I’m going to call mine to see if he can help.”
I have no doubt she will. Meanwhile, I’m going to call an allergist.