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Get thee behind me, ragweed
By Leslie Wilson
My throat’s been a little scratchy lately. Not typically an allergy sufferer, I fear I may be developing an aversion to ragweed. My dad told me that the usual count for late September is something in the 500 range, and yesterday in Dallas it was more than 5 billion.
Not really.
But it was pretty high. Much higher than usual, and apparently enough to make my eyes water, my nose run and my head pound. Just a little on all three. I should be thankful I’m not running around with a Kleenex up to my nose — like my mother-in-law does when cedar flies every December. I should count my blessings that I don’t have to don a surgical mask like my dad has had to when he attends my son’s football games.
“Scrunch down, and maybe he won’t see us,” Bret hissed, pulling me lower.
“Honey, he’s my dad.”
Then the couple across the aisle from us giggles when they spot him, looking like he just left the ER and forgot to take off his wardrobe.
I’m ashamed to admit I scrunched down, too.
Not my proudest moment.
And, to my dad, who faithfully reads this column every week: I’m sorry.
So allergy season has hit full force. I’ve heard people insist it’ll be a doozy because of all the rain we had through the summer. Oh goodie.
The question rattling around in my brain: Should I go to the doctor?
Part of me says yes — if only for what we call a peace-of-mind visit. It could be strep. It could be a sinus infection. I haven’t had any fever … yet, but I can feel it coming on.
The rational part of me, however, screams, “Nooooooooooo! What good will it do?”
I fear my scratchy throat et.al. will fall into that nebulous category of mysterious illnesses where the doctor says, “We’re seeing a lot of this kind of thing. It’s mostly due to allergy stuff, but it’s definitely not a bacterial infection.” And then three dreaded words every mother of three — who needs every ounce of energy to make it through the day — hates to hear:
“Antibiotics won’t help.”
My mind reels. Unspoken rants bounce through my brain. What do you mean — antibiotics won’t help? That’s what you’re supposed to give me. Please, tell me you’re kidding.
“What you really need to do is get plenty of rest, take an over-the-counter allergy medicine, and drink lots of fluids.”
For this I pay $105.
Coincidentally enough, I got the same diagnosis and prescription from my mother for free.
No offense, but in my book the doctor is there to dole out precious little pills to magically make me feel better. If he doesn’t, how has the visit been helpful? It hasn’t.
It’s actually done more harm than good. Let me explain. Because I expected to get medicine to help me feel better, my mind and body were dependent on him dispensing medication.
When I’m told I’ll be getting no antibiotics, my body goes into panic mode — much like the last 10 minutes of a James Bond movie. You know the one where James is trying to keep a nuclear reactor from going off and a female Russian voice continually drones, “60 seconds and counting.” (Only the 60 seconds takes about 10 minutes.) During that time, alarms sound, warning lights flash, people, desperate to reach the exit, scramble over one another in survival mode. “30 seconds and counting …”
My internal alarms have sounded — no antibiotics incoming.
Contact contributing columnist Leslie Wilson at les5points@aol.com. To post a comment online, access this column at www.scntx.com.
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