After sleeping and whining the weekend away, my husband insisted I call the doctor. Luckily, I already had an appointment for Monday morning. My doctor needed to refreeze The Wart That Ate Manhattan, which, for the past three months, had taken up permanent residence on my middle finger.
“Now show me that finger Karen.”
“Are you sure you want me to, Doctor? I mean, I like you.”
“Holy carbon dioxide Karen! Last time we froze this off it was 2 mm. It’s grown back to a whopping 4 mm! Hey Nurse! Get Drs. Huey, Dewy ,and Louie in here. They’ve got to see this. And grab the digital camera while you’re at it.”
The doctors, nurses, and three drug reps, who took a break from setting up a gourmet lunch in the break room, all crowded in the exam room and gawked at my finger. I didn’t mind holding it up for the drug reps since they didn’t bother to invite me to lunch or give me a thermal mug inscribed with the prescription drug I’d need when I got out of there.
“What could cause this, doctors?”
They hemmed and hawed, consulted texts, computers, and Blackberrys. They huddled around my finger as if it were going to grow a twin any minute. Finally, they wiped the sweat off their brows and concluded: “Allergies.”
“But I’ve never had allergies before in my entire life.”
“Welcome to North Carolina.”
“But — but — my dad said I’m not allowed to have allergies. None of us kids were allowed to have allergies. Not my mom … not the dog. Dad said it was all in our heads.… Mind over matter and all that psychogooblygop. I wonder if all these years it’s been allergies plaguing me. And here I thought it was just PMS, whiny children, or lack of chocolate-covered espresso beans.”
Intrigued with this life altering revelation, I inquired, “You know, I have been really tired lately. Could it be due to allergies?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you sure? Because I just attributed it to running the kids to 14 games, appointments, and extracurricular activities, staying up with the sick dog, waking up at 4:30 a.m. to catch up with the laundry, and fighting my never-ending lawn care battle with unwanted Bermuda grass.”
“I’m sure; it’s due to allergies.”
“Come to think of it, yesterday, after months of regularity, my IBS kicked into full gear. I assumed it was that second slice of red velvet cake I ate before bed, but you think it could be allergies?”
“There’s a good chance.”
“Well what about this morning? I felt a little nauseous. I think I took my multivitamin on an empty stomach again.”
“Or you’re pregnant. Want me to run a test?”
“Oh no, doctor. I can’t be pregnant. My husband won’t let me. Besides, I’m allergic.”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at www.busstopmommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
