Not surprisingly, I have allergies. Seems like everybody in America has them, which I think is one way you can tell that Darwinism has been pretty much wiped out by modern medicine and the welfare state. Someone who periodically finds they can’t breathe isn’t going to make it past age 10 in 18th century New Jersey. I guess this is a good thing, despite overcrowding and all.
But back to me. I didn’t always have allergies; I first noticed them when I was going to school in Baltimore. Due to the air pollution, I got a cold in January 1997 that lasted until approximately July 1998. Ever since, I’ve basically suffered a certain amount of sinus cloggage, interspersed with periodic bouts of downright sinus blockage. Every so often I’d be blessed with a remarkable nasal clarity, usually as a result of getting a cold and treating it with massive amounts of decongestants and occasionally sticking an oiled pipe cleaner in there. (Just kidding.)
I finally got fed up with it and made an appointment to see an allergist, Dr. Gregory Marcotte, who is very tall. This morning I appeared at the healthcare center, he took my history and gave me a short examination (including having a nurse weigh me: with clothes on, a healthy 234 pounds, meaning that naked I’m probably around 225, which is about a skinny as I’ve been since before I ballooned up to 260+ a few years ago), and left me in the car of a nurse, who stabbed my forearms with some small needles and bade me sit and watch TV (they had a video of “As Good As It Gets,” which I hadn’t seen in a while; oddly enough, I had forgotten that one of the characters is stricken with very bad allergies and asthma, which I assume is not coincidental with the tape being in the allergist’s office).
After 20 minutes, she came back and said everything looked pretty much normal. She had injected me with saline as a negative control, which hadn’t puffed up at all, and histamine as a positive control, which puffed up normally. The spot where she had stabbed me with undiluted cat dander solution had itched for a while, which concerned me, but it didn’t puff up. By this time I’d been there for about an hour, and was assuming that the next step was to have the doctor come in, tell me I wasn’t really allergic to anything, and that I should suck it up and blow my nose every once in a while. The nurse, however, told me that now they would do the SECONDARY test, in which they would squirt a heck of a lot more stuff under my shoulder skin to REALLY test how allergic I was.
I was thinking, “So what was the purpose of the first test?” but I didn’t ask, because the nurse was nice, and because she had a lot of hypodermic needles. (I’m pretty sure the first test was in very small amounts so they could make sure I wouldn’t react to the much larger amounts that they injected into my shoulder, which still, after 4 hours, is red and puffy.) Anyway, she shot me full of stuff again, and left me to enjoy the comedic genius that is Helen Hunt.
After 20 more minutes, she returned, looked at my arm, and said “Wow, you are REALLY allergic to dust mites and mold.” Good to know. The doctor came back in said the same thing, although it turned out I am NOT allergic to shrimp. I had specifically mentioned that as a possible allergen because a number of years ago I ate something like 300 cold shrimp at a Christmas party and broke out in hives. He said it might have something to do with sulfites, but then asked about wine and beer, and lord knows I’ve drunk that in vast amounts and haven’t had any horrid reactions other than the time I threw up on a Senator.
The nurse gave me some pamphlets on reducing dust mites and mold in the house, and the doctor gave me a prescription for Nasinex, which apparently will help reduce my decongestion which would return me to my pre-1997 nasal status, which would be EXTREMELY rad. So I’ll get that filled this afternoon.
Brian and Mary’s son, Nolan Michael, was born yesterday afternoon, so last night Sarah (who is so pregnant that she can’t roll over in bed without a crane) and I went to visit them all at the hospital. It was the first time I have ever held an infant under 8 hours old, which I guess is something I’ll have to get used to, but I still get nervous about the whole “supporting the head” thing. Everyone else seems to think I’m afraid of dropping a baby on its head, but even my ungainly arms can grip onto a baby. My problem is it’s never been adequately explained to me how far forward a baby’s head can go before it can’t breath, or how far back it can go before things start pushing on soft brain tissue in an uncool way, so once the baby has been placed in my arms I can’t move it, or hand it back effectively. I have to wait until someone who’s moved past these neuroses to come rescue it.
They are cool, though. Nolan didn’t seem to respond to my humming, but then, he didn’t respond to much of anything. I liked him.
The secret to holding the baby in the first few weeks is OVER concern your wife with your excitement at holding him/her/it. She will naturally be inclined to take shimit back for fear of you tossing him about like a sousaphone.