Betrayal

The weather has been very warm and reasonably dry these past few days in NYC. However, things have been difficult because I made the unpleasant discovery, once again, that I am allergic to airborne pollutants. If you are familiar with NYC air quality, you will realize that the air quality here is poor on a good day but, thanks to the influx of tree pollens, it has been worse than poor these past few days.

It turns out that, due to the sudden shift to breezy, warm and dry weather, the pollen count went beserk over the past couple days. It went past 20,000 yesterday, which was the worst that anyone in NYC has seen since they started recording such things, according to the weather peeps. So I, being allergic to almost every airborne pollen, perfume, cockroach poops or dust, dirt or smoke, ended up miserable beyond words. Besides the obvious symptoms (achoo), every bone and joint in my body ached, my head throbbed, my throat and mouth itched terribly and my heart was racing. It reminded me of springtime in Seattle, because when I lived there, I was so allergic to airborne things that I went into anaphylaxis several times.

Because it takes 2-3 years for one to mount an effective allergic reaction to new allergens in their new locations following a long distance relocation, I had no idea that I was allergic to anything here in NYC, and had initially hoped I would finally be free of my allergies. But alas, I discovered this week that this will not be the case.

When I was attending grad school in Seattle, no one believed that anyone could be so extremely allergic to so many airborne antigens. In fact, neither could I. I had never been allergic to anything in my entire life, and suddenly, nearly everything represented a potential health hazard. Even being trapped in an elevator with someone wearing one of several brands of perfume was enough to make me leap off at the first possible opportunity, coughing and choking, tears streaming freely down my face as I fought for breath. Yet, after a few scares, even after I realized that ignoring things wasn't working very well, I reluctantly agreed to undergo allergy testing, but only because I didn't want to be labeled a hypochondriac. Or worse.

So as I mentioned, no one (well, no one in the medical profession) believed such extreme allergies to airborne molecules could be possible until that particular morning when I was undergoing allergy testing to identify my microscopic tormentors as a prelude to 5 years of intensive allergy therapy. However, within 60 seconds of my "scratch test", my arm turned bright red and swelled up into a watermelon, and then I went into anaphylaxis and almost died right there. Or so it seemed to me.

It was an bewildering experience, needless to say. I remember feeling as though I was wrapped in stinging nettles and the world was suddenly defined in shades of blue and purple, my heart skipping lightly along, followed by my body (but oddly, not my mind) going into a panic because I could not breathe. The panic was a purely ganglionic response, I imagine -- certainly there was no intellectual involvement at all.

This was peculiar because it was as if I had been split into two people; one watching everything as it transpired while the other, unthinking, was in a panic. I remember being unable to utter a single intelligible word about my situation because my throat had nearly swollen closed. All this while people watched. All this within 60 seconds after my arm changed colors.

The aspect that scared me most of all was everyone's reaction: it was very fast. In fact, I've never seen adults move so quickly, didn't know it was possible, and that was truly startling.

Fortunately, the allergy clinic was located inside the hospital, strategically placed next to the ER, so there were half a dozen doctors standing around with nothing better to do than to poke needles into my body while they carried out other noisy and invasive procedures, so I survived. Part of their treatment was to inject adrenaline, which made my already racing heart begin to hammer wildly inside my chest. That was terrifying because it felt as though my heart would suddenly explode out of my body, like an alien creature shedding its living cocoon.

I was stuck in allergy clinic all that day because the medical people were worried that either my allergies or the adrenaline would finish me off if they didn't watch me carefully. The combination of adrenaline and steroids with my allergic reaction made me feel ill. My skin was flaming hot and felt as though it might split open, spilling my guts all over the floor. I was agitated and cranky and impatient. I was brilliant and talented beyond words while everyone around me was slow and stumbling and stupid. Watching them, I wondered, how did these lumpish people get to be doctors and nurses anyway?

I felt betrayed by my own health, or lack thereof, for a long time afterwards.

So when the old familar symptoms began again this week, I hid away in my apartment for a day and a half, taking outdated prescription anti-allergy medications and hoping for the best, worried what would happen to my financial state if I stupidly chose this time to venture out into the world and then went into anaphylaxis in public where I would be dragged off to the hospital against my will, thereby incurring who-knows-how-many thousands of dollars in new bills that I can't possibly afford.

But I am alright today. A little tired (okay, a lot tired -- allergies take a lot out of a person).