Be Here Now (Blog #920)

Every day for the last week I’ve talked about having a sinus infection. And whereas I wish I could say that I’ve been healed (and therefore talk about something else), I haven’t been. Despite the fact that I’ve tried most everything I know to do, nothing has worked. Last night I saw mild improvement but still ended up coughing myself to sleep. Today has been more of the same–gross. Honestly, I’m not sure that what I have IS a sinus infection. Maybe it’s a cold. Maybe it’s allergies. Dad says ragweed is higher than it’s ever been. Although last year I was tested for over fifty allergens including ragweed and didn’t react to a single one of them.

Take that, ragweed. You can’t get a reaction out of me.

Rather than being my usual take-charge self and flitting all over Van Buren and the internet in search of an immediate cure, I’ve spent most of today watching Netflix–in bed, in a chair, on the floor. In the last twenty-four hours I’ve watched four movies or documentaries. I’ve also done some reading. And some laundry. I’ve really tried to take it easy. To just be frickin’ sick and stop trying so hard. To stop being afraid of what might happen if I don’t. If I let go.

This is really hard for me to do.

It’s tough to know when to try and when not to try. For example, if I had’t scoured the internet for home remedies a year and a half ago, I never would have learned about the probiotic that’s been so helpful to my sinuses. But there’s obviously a point when it’s best to call uncle, to let your body rest and decide what’s best. Even if that means being sick.

One of the documentaries I watched this afternoon was called Be Here Now: The Andy Whitfield Story. Andy was the star of the television series Spartacus: Blood and Sand. This means at one point he was strong, healthy, and looked great in a loincloth. However, when he was in his late thirties, before the second season of Spartacus could begin, Andy was diagnosed with cancer. And although he underwent chemotherapy and radiation and even traveled the globe to supplement his treatments with Ayurveda, acupuncture, and yoga, he eventually died, leaving his wife and two small children behind.

The documentary mostly features Andy and his wife discussing their journey with cancer. And whereas for a year or two they were both convinced that he’d overcome his disease, there’s a point at which Andy starts thinking he won’t. The chemotherapy’s not working, the radiation’s not either, and the cancer keeps spreading. Andy says, “I finally thought, Maybe this is it for me, and it was a relief, to stop fighting.” His wife says, “I kept thinking that I needed the cancer to be over so we could get on with our life, but the cancer is our life right here, right now.”

Wow. How many of us think that our life will really start when? When we get over our illness. When we meet a lover. When our ship comes in. I know I think this on almost a daily basis. And whereas I hope many of my dreams will come true, even if they do, they’re simply fantasies now; they’re not my life. Now my life is living with my parents. It’s going to therapy and writing this blog. It’s getting a sinus infection (or cold) now and then. So I’m trying to remind myself that it’s up to me whether or not I embrace these things, whether or not I make the most of them, whether or not I choose to–as Andy had tattooed on his forearm–be here now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our world is magical, a mysterious place where everything somehow works together, where nothing and no one is without influence, where all things great and small make a difference.

"

Content for Now (Blog #445)

This morning I got up at 6:15 in order to go to Fayetteville and be tested for allergies. This was something both my primary care physician and immunologist suggested after all the blood work from my recent battery of tests came back as “pristine,” just as good as anyone else’s if not better (so there). I’ve been looking forward to being tested, thinking we’d finally have an answer to my lifelong sinus infection problems and recent skin irritations. But when I got up this morning I was nervous. I thought, What if I’m allergic to dogs, dust mites, grass, and everything else under the sun? Do I really want to KNOW that?

Thinking it was quite possible for me to “flare up” in response to being tested this morning, my friend Bonnie offered to take me. “If your body overreacts and you feel miserable,” she said, “you shouldn’t have to drive.” Wasn’t that kind of her? I’ve been dragging myself to doctor appointments for months now–alone–and that’s okay–but I can’t tell you what it meant to have someone simply offer to tag along, what’s more to actually go. At the butt crack of dawn.

Talk about a good friend. (I guess that’s what I’m doing.)

At the allergy clinic, I was taken excellent care of. They even weighed me in kilograms to protect my ego. (I’m under a hundred!) Now that’s service. But seriously, I was there for a solid two hours, and half of that was them taking a full medical history and me getting to ask questions. Then came the “fun” part, when the nurse scratched or pricked me sixty different times to test me for common allergens like dogs, cats, mold, ragweed, and every tree you can think of. For this I lay shirtless on my stomach as I gripped the table and–with each needle scratch–practiced enunciating my favorite curse words.

She-it!

Son of a bi-otch!

Y’all, these expletives were justified. It felt like the nurse was planting saplings between my shoulder blades with a rusted shovel. Granted, it didn’t hurt that bad at first, but it just went on and on–poke, poke, poke–like some sort of medieval torture device. What’s worse, I could have sworn the nurse was getting off on it, like one of those demented people on YouTube who enjoys popping zits, except this woman was popping perfectly good skin (mine). I can’t say how long this went on, but I was so grateful when it was over that I rededicated my life to the lord.

Of the sixty scratches, only fifty-eight contained actual potential allergens. The other two were controls, one being saline (which shows as non-reactive), the other being straight (as opposed to gay?) histamine (which shows as reactive). As I understand it, a person is “allergic” to any substance that hives up like the histamine control. The results take fifteen minutes to “come in,” during which time you’re not allowed to roll over or scratch. The nurse told me, “If you do, we’ll have to start over.”

So get this shit.

At the end of fifteen minutes, the nurse said I wasn’t allergic TO ANYTHING. That’s right, all that worrying, and nothing on my back hived up in response to our region’s most offensive allergens. See for yourself in the photo below. (The red dots are a normal reaction to having your skin scratched WITH A FREAKIN’ NEEDLE, and the one big bump in the lower right corner is the straight histamine.)

In response to why I sometimes sneeze or have watery eyes, the doctor and nurse explained that a person can be “intolerant” of things like animals or pollen but not truly be allergic to them. (Take an antihistamine, they said.) So that was the joke between Bonnie and me on the way home–that I’m INTOLERANT–I won’t put up with allergens, I simply won’t abide them. (UH-CHEW.) Honestly, I don’t know what to do with this information. Most of me is relieved. This is good news. Really good news. My immune system works. Better than I thought it did. (I was wrong, guys.) At the same time, SOMETHING has been negatively contributing to my health issues lately, and I still don’t know what that is. Alas, I leave this mystery for another day, content for now in the knowledge that something I thought was horribly broken (me)–isn’t.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"No one comes into this life knowing how to dance, always moving with grace."