Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Gay home remedies for hives?

My BFF Angela has a blog, and I just poked her to write in it, as it's been too damn long since she's written something to entertain me. The conversation went as follows:

Angela: I'm feeling a little uninspired lately.
Me: I know, me too. Who wants to read a queering domesticity blog about hives?
Angela: Hahaha. You could talk about gay home remedies for hives?
Me: Oh, well, that's just a bunch of flailing and string cheese.
Angela: I'd read that.
Me: Natch.

That's where I'm at folks. I'm not wholly uninspired of late, just kind of not in the whole "keeping house" mentality. Recently I discovered an annoying allergy to cats which I had previously kept at bay; it manifests itself in the form of RIDICULOUSLY itchy hives. This inspired me to start taking my generic Allegra (anti-histamine) again, which my doctor prescribed during the Asthma Whirlwind of 2007. I filled my prescription on Friday February 15th and while sitting at BWI, waiting for the plane to take me to Phoenix for some overdue parent time, I took that little peachy-pink pill hoping for a miracle. Can I just tell you how difficult it is to adequately scratch the palms of your hands?!

When I landed in Atlanta for my brief layover, I thought I was close to throwing myself on the floor of the airport and throwing a tantrum of mega-proportions. I was covered in hives, head to toe (literally, my toes had little hives on them), and my heart was doing a thumpa-bump in my chest. It was disorienting, distracting and stressful. I was thankful that the flight to Phoenix was both uneventful and dark, as the pilots made it all cozy by turning the lights down. No one had to see my hivey, itchy, swollen face. Or my deep, dramatic misery.

I landed in Phoenix and was ex-haus-ted. My parents picked me up and I spent the long weekend either bathed in hives or midly ok, but facing some serious heartburn issues (ew!). I had a good time and got to take some awesome pictures in Sedona, despite the fact that it's turned into a white people's touristy town. I mean, I was a white tourist when I first went there naturally, but it also had some natural organic appeal even in the heart of the "tourist district". Now you can get yer fresh mountain tacos and Native-inspired jewelry Made In China. Oh, yay.

I flew home and spent last week in further misery, itchy, pained, dramatically queer. Then the ice came down Friday and my doctor postponed all visits until this Monday. I contemplated, heavily, the prospect of just going to the ER and getting shot up with whatever they could give me. But patience, a far distant virtue of mine [sometimes], won and I waited until Monday. I spent the weekend getting intimate with various bags of ice and also accompanying some lucky loverly people of mine to get tattoos. I wish I could articulate the degree to which this saddens and pains me. *stomps foot in angry jealousy*

Monday my doctor laughed off the possibility that I could be allergic to an anti-histamine. Maybe it was the dye they used? (I just typed "dyke" for "dye" right there! Funny!) Maybe it was my overly irritated immune system [or lack thereof...]? Maybe it was a whole host of things? But he wanted to see if he could nip in the bud the old-fashioned way...the way of my doctors when I faced the awful hivey landscape as a teenager. I left the office with samples of generic Zyrtec, dye-free, and with prescriptions for Zantac (and H2 blocker) and Atarax (one of those drugs that knocks you out and convinces you that you aren't itchy because you're, well, knocked out). I waited until bedtime, took my little pills, and passed the hell out.

I woke up yesterday morning COVERED, I shit you not, head to toe again in some FIERCE hives. I looked like a topographic map of circles, waves and mountains everywhere. It was sexy, no doubt. I was also emotionally AT MY END and proceeded to leave my boss a blubbering, sobbing mess of a message to say that I was to be out, again. And then I promptly opened the bottle of my back-up meds...STEROIDS...and shoved them down unapologetically with a hunk of baguette and a banana. Hives usually win until the steroids come out, people. With me anyway.

The rest of the day was supposed to be spent in luxurious hive-less splendor. Only my body was at a freak out stage far greater than the strength of my steroids, which are to put this in perspective, four times stronger than the steroids my mother is currently prescribed for her relatively bad arthritis. That's screwed up! So I waited impatiently, flailing and eating string cheese, because the steroids do screwed up things to your tastebuds and make you crave salt...which then makes you retain water...which then makes your ankles look like the size of Nevada and Colorado, respectively. AND THEN, I found out that my landlords failed to pay the water bill for our entire building for over six months, so my lovely neighbor and I were unable to flush our toilets for about five hours, until our collective screaming served as a siren's call to the do-gooders at the DC water and sewer authority. Naturally, you are happy my toilet is flushable now.

There really isn't particular queer about being homebound with hives, except to say that my hives are indeed queer and a part of my life that I despise. I've been dealing with hives, for some reason, since I was a wee little leprechaun and I've seriously had ENOUGH. The only saving grace is my fantastic partner, who has been there for me without fail (despite my terrifying display of topographic itchiness) and without whom I would be miserable to the infinitieth degree. My Mom cheering me on from Arizona has helped a lot too.

Also, there are moments of hilarity. This morning my coworker P asked me how I was feeling and I showed him my hives near my collarbone. He exclaimed with such sincere glee that they were awesome and beautiful and that I should take a picture of them so I can create something artistic in their honor that I forgot, for a few minutes, the pain and itch I've been dealing with for weeks. And I marveled at the inspiration truly available to us, in everything and everywhere, even when we least expect it.

Next on the craft list: a hive inspired tapestry, earring set or even painting. Yes?

1 comment:

  1. Oh, that all sucks! I hope the steroids work well and quickly.


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