Notes on Allergies

Here in Austin we have an abundance of monstrously overgrown weeds known as cedar trees, and roughly 3 months of each year they set about their life’s work polluting with pollen that brings about an endless fever. Symptoms are akin to a certain virus that sent the world into hibernation in 2020, and we might do that here, if not for the necessity of life-giving air, needed everywhere.

I’m one of the unlucky ones blessed with an annual sinus infection or ER visit, that was until I found the appropriate flushes and sprays keeping my airways prepped to prevent such disasters. Perhaps no small coincidence that since I quit smoking in 2015 and started this routine, I’ve been breathing easier. Cedar be damned, even the hippies might help me raze the lot.

Cats on the other hand, I really enjoy. Coy and playful, with just the right amount of mischievousness to know we’re kindred. Problem is, I’m also violently allergic, with any close encounter ending in weeping fits of sneezing. The thing about cats is they are tremendously curious about any unsuspecting person who takes the least interest in them, which makes me a prime target for their amusement. Knowing this, I have options - strategically avoid, pet/scrub/pay anyway, or pre-medicate. Playing with fire, but at least we’ve reached an understanding.

Illness isn’t always so easy to identify and treat. I was raised in a home where depression is a failure of will, faith, or fortitude, as in go to your room until you fix your attitude. And if all else fails, FEAR can compel the saddest sinner to survive. There were junctures when I could have been medicated, should have been medicated, but even the dimmest realities hold light when we’ve never known the world brighter.

This is perhaps how we played hopscotch with healthcare during The Pandemic, trying to make sense of a catastrophe too great to be named, rough beginnings without end, from infection of our bodies to the troubled hearts and minds following sadly in their wake.

Depression is something like that - onset distinctly ringing as clouds cover all understanding, rarely noticing its delicate departure. And yet, the seasons change.

I exhausted every rational option before landing on the most obvious one - take your fucking medicine. No brows raised at Advil on a headache, or chemo for your cancer. There are a few ways to skin a cat, but when you’re in crisis, we do what works.

Wholeness requires full health - body, mind, and spirit. Crisis averted, setting myself to complete recovery requires renewed energy. Rather than running into the wind, I get to fly with it, making space for fresh ideas blossoming wildly in new places. Here I will reap what I sow, rooting out weeds before overgrown. With silver bells and cockleshells, visions of new life emerge as God intended - healing, helping, whole.

“The camera may record exactly, but it can set down only what its operator sees, and we see what we want to see.”

-John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley

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