The downside of the beauty of The Yellow Season is the pollen. I wanted to write about it, but I discovered that I'd done so already.... and that this post from March 2020 is much better than the one I was planning to write. So, repeated from the beginning of Pandemica, here it is.
Allergies
We all know them - the people who don't have seasonal allergies, the people who smile smugly at those of us whose bodies are rejecting that which we are inhaling, wondering what all the fuss is about.
TBG was one of them. Food sensitivities are his specialty, and he has his favorites. Little Cuter poisoned him with milk seasoned with Omega-3's, brain food for her lactating self but a gut churning disaster for her father's allergy to iodine. We figured it out, but only after we'd checked into a hotel to spare her newborn from what we thought was a stomach bug.
But breathing the air? It never bothered him. I'd be a sneezy and teary and scratchy throated mess while he handed me tissues and sympathized. It went on like this in Ithaca, and Washington, D.C, and Chicago, and San Francisco and Marin.
Then, we moved to Tucson.
Our first spring did nothing to me. The dust blown summer and my contacts had had an interesting introduction, but the different plants didn't seem to bother me as they began to blossom. For TBG, though, it was another story.
"I can't shake this cold," became his mantra.
"You have allergies," I chanted in return.
"I DON'T have allergies," came his response.
Over and over and over again. He was functional, but his head felt awful. (Yup, allergies) He wanted to scratch the skin off his face. (Yup, allergies) He wasn't sick-sick, but...... (Yup, allergies) We were caught in an ever repeating cycle until the Arizona Daily Star came to my rescue.
One morning, in a bold font that covered the entire paper above the fold, was one word: POLLEN. Below that, in a font only marginally smaller, was a box containing a list of symptoms which fully, completely, totally, without exception, explained my husband's dilemma.
Now, if you ask him, he'll say I never had allergies 'til I moved to the place that used to be the place you moved to avoid allergies.
TBG was one of them. Food sensitivities are his specialty, and he has his favorites. Little Cuter poisoned him with milk seasoned with Omega-3's, brain food for her lactating self but a gut churning disaster for her father's allergy to iodine. We figured it out, but only after we'd checked into a hotel to spare her newborn from what we thought was a stomach bug.
But breathing the air? It never bothered him. I'd be a sneezy and teary and scratchy throated mess while he handed me tissues and sympathized. It went on like this in Ithaca, and Washington, D.C, and Chicago, and San Francisco and Marin.
Then, we moved to Tucson.
Our first spring did nothing to me. The dust blown summer and my contacts had had an interesting introduction, but the different plants didn't seem to bother me as they began to blossom. For TBG, though, it was another story.
"I can't shake this cold," became his mantra.
"You have allergies," I chanted in return.
"I DON'T have allergies," came his response.
Over and over and over again. He was functional, but his head felt awful. (Yup, allergies) He wanted to scratch the skin off his face. (Yup, allergies) He wasn't sick-sick, but...... (Yup, allergies) We were caught in an ever repeating cycle until the Arizona Daily Star came to my rescue.
One morning, in a bold font that covered the entire paper above the fold, was one word: POLLEN. Below that, in a font only marginally smaller, was a box containing a list of symptoms which fully, completely, totally, without exception, explained my husband's dilemma.
Now, if you ask him, he'll say I never had allergies 'til I moved to the place that used to be the place you moved to avoid allergies.
There certainly is some irony there!
ReplyDeleteEast Coast transplants brought their favorite plants with them and so the sneezes began!
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The San Joaquin Valley is the hotspot for allergies. Everything grows here and the pollen is wild. The drug stores can hardly keep Claritin D in stock. Terry now has a prescription version of it since the pollens seem to be irritating his esophygus since his heart surgery. I'm sure you've been told, but be sure to change clothes, shower, wash your hair when you come home, and run an air purifier. It makes a world of difference for me.
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