Thank you, Janet 2.0

I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know…me. 

Decades of self-exploration. Hundreds of hours of quiet introspection punctuated by an occasional primal scream.
Lab test out the hoo-ha. Some literally involving my hoo-ha. 
And don’t get me started on the thousands of dollars I’ve spent over the years getting in sync with my body—mind—and spirit.

Seeking, searching, asking, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

By this stage of the game I was confident in the fact that I knew myself quite well.
If asked on a game show, I could have easily identified my top three favorite foods:
Pasta.
Chocolate.
Truffles.
And for the bonus points in the lightning round—Truffle pasta with a hint of chocolate.

Ding,ding,ding!

“And what foods are you allergic to?” Bob might ask, in an attempt to stump me.

“None. Oh, wait, maybe strawberries. Sometimes they make my mouth itch. Ok, strawberries for the win!”

Ding, ding, ding!!

Confetti would fall, spokesmodels would weep, and I’d drive away in a BRAND. NEW. CAR!

“Thank you, Bob. And thank you, self, for being so figureoutable. 

But not anymore. All that has changed.

In the past month I’ve had a severe allergic reaction THREE TIMES to something unknown. Something I ingested. And it’s not like I’ve been eating street food in Vietnam, I’ve been at home all three times, eating lunch, which, if you must know, is boring as fuck.

Or is it? I suppose if it kills you, that makes it a bit more interesting…

Anyway, the reaction was the same. A fiery, red rash on my face, chest and arms, and the third time it happened I had trouble breathing. I ran for the Benadryl. That’s what the pharmacist had recommended when I’d called him breathlessly the first time this occurred.
“Take a Benadryl,” he said; his voice free of even the slightest hint of concern as I wheezed and sputtered on the other end of the phone.
I applaud his ability to remain detached. I really do. It has been my observation that is the case with most pharmacists. I’m sure it’s an act of self-preservation. God forbid his epinephrine spikes from identifying too closely with a panicky, hypersensitive, substance sufferer like me.

So I dd. I took the Benadryl.
And then I waited…and eventually…it helped.

My face went back to normal and my arms looked like arms again and not spotted, red clumps of itchy, hot meat.
But it had a side effect. It made me loopy. Loopier than normal. You all know I’m a high-functioning loop.
But apparently, if you add Benadryl into the mix, I bump into walls, drool, and can’t operate the blender. So, my day is over! Shot! And I pretty much end up asleep at my desk.

Which I’m told is a severe reaction. Groggy is normal. Unconsious—not so much.

So, what do you take if you’re allergic to Benadryl?

Thank you, Janet 2.0, for this ever evolving, surprisingly delicate, constitution you’ve saddled me with. And for developing a weird allergy to something random and boring that lurks in the pantry waiting to kill me/us. 

“Eat each thing separately and see which one triggers the reaction.” My pharmacist suggested, like it was a parlor game.  “But have a Benadryl in your hand when you do—you don’t want to stop breathing, and if you do—don’t call here—call 911.”

“Yeah—good advice, you heartless sadist. That’s not gonna happen.”

I’m thinking of switching to food trucks for lunch because if food’s gonna kill me—I’m going with Sriracha sauce all down my shirt and a smile on my face!

Carry on,
xox