Tuesday, September 16, 2003
GETTING TESTED FOR ALLERGIES IS A TOTALLY COOL THING. I show up to the allergist's office at 8:30 a.m. -- right on time from my years of training having lived in a country that prides itself on being on time. No not Switzerland. Austria. Almost the same thing. To achieve this I haven't yet had any coffee, I forgot my umbrella, and didn't switch the dishwasher to the ON position before I walked out the door. The nurse takes my blood pressure. "I haven't had my Starbucks yet. Don't be surprised if you find that I am clinically dead," I half joke. Actually my blood pressure is really incredibly low from my athlete lifestyle. Take my blood pressure at 8:30 a.m. sans coffee and well... She weighs me -- still a steady-for-the-past-fifteen-years 128 pounds. She measures my height. Not shrinking yet.
Then comes a thoroughly-from-my-perspective enjoyable doctor's visit (I also love getting my teeth cleaned). Per request, I roll up my non-iron Brooks Brother's blouse sleeves to reveal still tanned arms. I place the underside of said arms up on the table while the He-nurse with the earring takes out the "caterpillar" -- an elongated piece of plastic that resembles, well, a plastic-art-rendition (what artist?) of a caterpillar with hundreds of legs. At the end of each leg is a prickle of potential allergen. The nurse presses the caterpillar against your tender palm's-up-skin which feels as though someone were pressing their fingernails into your skin momentarily.
Now I wait fifteen minutes to see whether any of the train-track of red dots will show me allergic to something. Three spots begin to swell up and are itching me big time. But the nurse has given me specific orders not to scratch. One spot seems especially unhappy as it turns into an angry red welt on my upper arm. Wonder what that is? If it is chocolate I am already contemplating sharp-edged objects in the doctor's office with which to slit my wrists. The doctor returns to proclaim his verdict and perhaps be the catalyst for ending my life.
"Does your mouth ever itch when you eat certain fruits?" the doctor asks.
"Why yes," I answer (maybe not so formally). "When I eat apples and peaches the inside of my mouth itches. But I've noticed this just in the last few years. Am I allergic to these fruits?"
"Well not really. You are allergic to birch pollen. And oak pollen. And mice. Do you have mice in your house that you know of?"
"No, but there is a whole colony of mice at the State House. In fact I have one who hangs out in my office named Fritz...But if I'm not allergic to apples and peaches, then...."
"When you eat an apple, the anti-bodies in your system think you are ingesting birch pollen. The structures are very similar. The same is true for other soft-skinned fruits, walnuts, and parsley."
"Ah-hah!" I exclaim. "I was eating walnuts by the fist-full the week I got this itching thing! They were for a Sunset Magazine pesto recipe I never got around to making!"
"Well, I think you know what to do. I am going to give you a prescription for an Epi-Pen in the event you ever have a more severe reaction to one of these foods you may mistakenly ingest at some point. "It could save your life," he says gravely (and what's your cut by promoting the Epi-Pen I wonder?). I watch the informational video and decide to avoid at all costs these few foods I am now allergic to because stabbing yourself in the thigh with a half-inch needle looks really painful...
Gee I can hardly wait for the next age-induced break-down to occur. Let's face it. I've probably always been allergic to birch pollen. But every apple I ate in my youth, my youthful cells scoffed at. "Bring it on!" they bellowed.
Anyone want to adopt a State employee mouse named Fritz?
Then comes a thoroughly-from-my-perspective enjoyable doctor's visit (I also love getting my teeth cleaned). Per request, I roll up my non-iron Brooks Brother's blouse sleeves to reveal still tanned arms. I place the underside of said arms up on the table while the He-nurse with the earring takes out the "caterpillar" -- an elongated piece of plastic that resembles, well, a plastic-art-rendition (what artist?) of a caterpillar with hundreds of legs. At the end of each leg is a prickle of potential allergen. The nurse presses the caterpillar against your tender palm's-up-skin which feels as though someone were pressing their fingernails into your skin momentarily.
Now I wait fifteen minutes to see whether any of the train-track of red dots will show me allergic to something. Three spots begin to swell up and are itching me big time. But the nurse has given me specific orders not to scratch. One spot seems especially unhappy as it turns into an angry red welt on my upper arm. Wonder what that is? If it is chocolate I am already contemplating sharp-edged objects in the doctor's office with which to slit my wrists. The doctor returns to proclaim his verdict and perhaps be the catalyst for ending my life.
"Does your mouth ever itch when you eat certain fruits?" the doctor asks.
"Why yes," I answer (maybe not so formally). "When I eat apples and peaches the inside of my mouth itches. But I've noticed this just in the last few years. Am I allergic to these fruits?"
"Well not really. You are allergic to birch pollen. And oak pollen. And mice. Do you have mice in your house that you know of?"
"No, but there is a whole colony of mice at the State House. In fact I have one who hangs out in my office named Fritz...But if I'm not allergic to apples and peaches, then...."
"When you eat an apple, the anti-bodies in your system think you are ingesting birch pollen. The structures are very similar. The same is true for other soft-skinned fruits, walnuts, and parsley."
"Ah-hah!" I exclaim. "I was eating walnuts by the fist-full the week I got this itching thing! They were for a Sunset Magazine pesto recipe I never got around to making!"
"Well, I think you know what to do. I am going to give you a prescription for an Epi-Pen in the event you ever have a more severe reaction to one of these foods you may mistakenly ingest at some point. "It could save your life," he says gravely (and what's your cut by promoting the Epi-Pen I wonder?). I watch the informational video and decide to avoid at all costs these few foods I am now allergic to because stabbing yourself in the thigh with a half-inch needle looks really painful...
Gee I can hardly wait for the next age-induced break-down to occur. Let's face it. I've probably always been allergic to birch pollen. But every apple I ate in my youth, my youthful cells scoffed at. "Bring it on!" they bellowed.
Anyone want to adopt a State employee mouse named Fritz?
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