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Scratch and Sniffle
Apr. 10th, 2007 05:06 pmI'm doomed.
Let me back up.
I never had allergies growing up. As a child, I frolicked in open fields, stuck my head out of windows and plucked wildflowers with the carefree insouciance of callow youth. Around college, things started to change, with the curiously lingering sniffles here and there. And over the past several years, my seasonal allergies have grown in strength to the point where they are no longer really seasonal. They have developed off-season training regimens, pre-season exhibitions and post-season championships.
Last year, for the first time, I went to an allergist to determine (a) why my body was slowly being consumed by mucus and (b) what could be done about it. This visit was one of the most frightening medical experiences of my entire life, and this includes many viewings of "Grey's Anatomy."
The office was in a cramped rowhouse in the middle of downtown D.C. I should have known immediately that something wasn't right when I noticed the copious office artwork depicting harness racing, a sport that reached the peak of its popularity in Ancient Rome. Then I noticed that the receptionist was doing all of her work on a typewriter. When she calculated my co-pay, I distinctly remember her using an abacus.
Eventually I was led to an office at the end of a hallway that seemed far too big to be an examination room. It looked like it was once a master bedroom. In the corner there was a dingy sink and two swivel stools, next to which sat a tray of antique metal instruments, the kind that might have been used to examine Jesus.
A gentle old man in a white coat and one of those silver disks strapped to his head came in and talked to me for a few minutes about my symptoms. He was very friendly and congenial and did not appear to be senile. Then he looked in my ears and said that I had too much earwax, and that he'd have to flush it out of there. So I endured ten minutes of him using some sort of apparatus to spray saltwater into my ear and all over my shoulder and neck.
Once he was able to inspect my ear, he confirmed that I did indeed have allergies. Frankly, this was a relief. I was happy to finally get an official diagnosis, and moreover pleased that I had not contracted tetanus or smallpox while sitting in his office. He gave me a prescription for a nasal spray and sent me on my way.
This nasal spray pretty much confirmed my longstanding opinion of nasal sprays: they are dumb. First of all, how the hell is a person supposed to spray something into his sinus cavity when the whole reason for the medication is nasal congestion? And if by some chance you do manage to get the mist past the nasal blockage, it invariably does one of two things: it either gives you five minutes of stinging forehead agony, or it dribbles back out your nose and onto your tissue. This procedure continued for a week with few results.
Thus foiled, I asked my doctor for a different prescription, and he gave me a popular anti-histamine and nasal decongestant. After taking that for a week or so, I saw little abatement in my original symptoms. I did find myself becoming increasingly dry and dehydrated, at times shriveling up to the point where I looked like Jessica Tandy.
So I went back again and the doctor put me on a leukotriene receptor antagonist, which is commonly used to treat asthma patients. And I'll be damned if it didn't actually work – until about a month ago.
That's when the symptoms returned. Itchy, watery eyes that make me want to gouge them out with pencils. Cyclonic sneezing fits that literally propel me backwards. Inexplicable congestion in the right side of my nose paired with incessant trickling out of the left side of my nose like some sort of ill-conceived irrigation system.
Terrified of returning to the medieval barber's chair, I booked an appointment with a more contemporary physician – or, more accurately, a physician's assistant (PA), since the actual doctor was booked until mid-May due to an apparent hay fever outbreak on his yacht.
After enumerating my symptoms, medications and frustrations with the PA, she gave me the old once-over. She surmised that I did probably have some sort of broad-based seasonal allergy, but wanted to confirm that diagnosis with a prick test. I assured her that I was not a prick, but she insisted nevertheless.
As it turns out, the prick test consists of getting pricked on your arms with a series of common allergens. There were about 30 in all, including dust, animal dander, 12 kinds of trees, five kinds of weeds, various grasses and cockroach particles. (Just thinking about "cockroach particles" makes me feel a little allergic.) The doctors can identify what a person is allergic to by which pricks cause a skin reaction.
So she handed me over to the lab nurse who poked me with these little needles for a few minutes. It didn't really hurt; in fact, it really took my mind off my nose. Then the nurse left the room for a while.
By the time she came back, my arms were lit up like Las Vegas. Even the PA was taken aback. "Well. It looks like you're allergic to everything," she said. It was a very depressing moment. Not to mention itchy.
The PA sat me down to talk about preventive measures such as hypo-allergenic linens, frequent showers and not breathing. She gave me some literature and a catalog of allergy-sensitive products, which judging by the pictures looks like a Michael Jackson costume kit. Then she talked to me about various pharmaceutical treatments and prescribed (1) a nasal spray, to be used once a day, (2) an anti-histamine with decongestant, to be taken twice a day and (3) eye drops, as needed. The only thing she didn't prescribe was the one thing that seemed to work a year ago.
She did mention that I was a candidate for allergy shots, which consist of specially-designed inoculations to desensitize the system to allergens. Instinctively, it seemed like an appealing solution. But then I learned that the course of treatment is five to seven years. And if I'm going to spend five to seven years and countless dollars to go through a painful procedure every week, I'm going to want an advanced degree for it.
I realize that it's sort of obnoxious of me to whine about allergies when other people are dealing with more serious health issues like Government-Created Killer Nanorobot Infection. Maybe I should just resolve to follow through with my treatment and soldier on. Maybe I should count my blessings, because it could be so much worse. Maybe I should just breathe easy.
Oh, wait. I can't.
I'm doomed.
Let me back up.
I never had allergies growing up. As a child, I frolicked in open fields, stuck my head out of windows and plucked wildflowers with the carefree insouciance of callow youth. Around college, things started to change, with the curiously lingering sniffles here and there. And over the past several years, my seasonal allergies have grown in strength to the point where they are no longer really seasonal. They have developed off-season training regimens, pre-season exhibitions and post-season championships.
Last year, for the first time, I went to an allergist to determine (a) why my body was slowly being consumed by mucus and (b) what could be done about it. This visit was one of the most frightening medical experiences of my entire life, and this includes many viewings of "Grey's Anatomy."
The office was in a cramped rowhouse in the middle of downtown D.C. I should have known immediately that something wasn't right when I noticed the copious office artwork depicting harness racing, a sport that reached the peak of its popularity in Ancient Rome. Then I noticed that the receptionist was doing all of her work on a typewriter. When she calculated my co-pay, I distinctly remember her using an abacus.
Eventually I was led to an office at the end of a hallway that seemed far too big to be an examination room. It looked like it was once a master bedroom. In the corner there was a dingy sink and two swivel stools, next to which sat a tray of antique metal instruments, the kind that might have been used to examine Jesus.
A gentle old man in a white coat and one of those silver disks strapped to his head came in and talked to me for a few minutes about my symptoms. He was very friendly and congenial and did not appear to be senile. Then he looked in my ears and said that I had too much earwax, and that he'd have to flush it out of there. So I endured ten minutes of him using some sort of apparatus to spray saltwater into my ear and all over my shoulder and neck.
Once he was able to inspect my ear, he confirmed that I did indeed have allergies. Frankly, this was a relief. I was happy to finally get an official diagnosis, and moreover pleased that I had not contracted tetanus or smallpox while sitting in his office. He gave me a prescription for a nasal spray and sent me on my way.
This nasal spray pretty much confirmed my longstanding opinion of nasal sprays: they are dumb. First of all, how the hell is a person supposed to spray something into his sinus cavity when the whole reason for the medication is nasal congestion? And if by some chance you do manage to get the mist past the nasal blockage, it invariably does one of two things: it either gives you five minutes of stinging forehead agony, or it dribbles back out your nose and onto your tissue. This procedure continued for a week with few results.
Thus foiled, I asked my doctor for a different prescription, and he gave me a popular anti-histamine and nasal decongestant. After taking that for a week or so, I saw little abatement in my original symptoms. I did find myself becoming increasingly dry and dehydrated, at times shriveling up to the point where I looked like Jessica Tandy.
So I went back again and the doctor put me on a leukotriene receptor antagonist, which is commonly used to treat asthma patients. And I'll be damned if it didn't actually work – until about a month ago.
That's when the symptoms returned. Itchy, watery eyes that make me want to gouge them out with pencils. Cyclonic sneezing fits that literally propel me backwards. Inexplicable congestion in the right side of my nose paired with incessant trickling out of the left side of my nose like some sort of ill-conceived irrigation system.
Terrified of returning to the medieval barber's chair, I booked an appointment with a more contemporary physician – or, more accurately, a physician's assistant (PA), since the actual doctor was booked until mid-May due to an apparent hay fever outbreak on his yacht.
After enumerating my symptoms, medications and frustrations with the PA, she gave me the old once-over. She surmised that I did probably have some sort of broad-based seasonal allergy, but wanted to confirm that diagnosis with a prick test. I assured her that I was not a prick, but she insisted nevertheless.
As it turns out, the prick test consists of getting pricked on your arms with a series of common allergens. There were about 30 in all, including dust, animal dander, 12 kinds of trees, five kinds of weeds, various grasses and cockroach particles. (Just thinking about "cockroach particles" makes me feel a little allergic.) The doctors can identify what a person is allergic to by which pricks cause a skin reaction.
So she handed me over to the lab nurse who poked me with these little needles for a few minutes. It didn't really hurt; in fact, it really took my mind off my nose. Then the nurse left the room for a while.
By the time she came back, my arms were lit up like Las Vegas. Even the PA was taken aback. "Well. It looks like you're allergic to everything," she said. It was a very depressing moment. Not to mention itchy.
The PA sat me down to talk about preventive measures such as hypo-allergenic linens, frequent showers and not breathing. She gave me some literature and a catalog of allergy-sensitive products, which judging by the pictures looks like a Michael Jackson costume kit. Then she talked to me about various pharmaceutical treatments and prescribed (1) a nasal spray, to be used once a day, (2) an anti-histamine with decongestant, to be taken twice a day and (3) eye drops, as needed. The only thing she didn't prescribe was the one thing that seemed to work a year ago.
She did mention that I was a candidate for allergy shots, which consist of specially-designed inoculations to desensitize the system to allergens. Instinctively, it seemed like an appealing solution. But then I learned that the course of treatment is five to seven years. And if I'm going to spend five to seven years and countless dollars to go through a painful procedure every week, I'm going to want an advanced degree for it.
I realize that it's sort of obnoxious of me to whine about allergies when other people are dealing with more serious health issues like Government-Created Killer Nanorobot Infection. Maybe I should just resolve to follow through with my treatment and soldier on. Maybe I should count my blessings, because it could be so much worse. Maybe I should just breathe easy.
Oh, wait. I can't.
I'm doomed.
