…CONTINUED

From yesterday.
UPDATE: 13:49:17 October 20, 2009

Not dead.

Not riding, maybe tonight.

Not working, not so much anyway.

Like I said.  Could be allergies.

When I was little I used to get red eye lids.

Looked like maybe I was or had been, crying.

Most of the time.  Not all the time.

It didn’t make me less popular.
On the contrary.

Mostly other children didn’t notice.
Until they crusted up.

My eye lids that is.  In extreme cases.

My doctor had a degree.
He said it was allergies.

We appreciated the diagnosiss.

On his recommendation, we went to see another doctor, to be sure.
A specialist.

An allergy doctor.
My eye lids didn’t bother me.
They were just red.  Sometimes.

She confirmed, it was in fact allergies.

Allergies could be controlled she said.
Evened out she said.
Over time, perhaps eliminated.

My mom agreed.

She agreed that the doctor could strap my arms to a cold steel table.

I was scratched a thousand times.

A single drop from each of a thousand vials was carefully placed on each of the thousand wounds.

Notes were taken.
Numbers recorded.
Some of the shit really hurt.
HOLD STILL! NO SCRATCHING!

Dogs, cats, ragweed and feather pillows comprised the main culprits.
Grass and dust and mostly a thousand other things showed minor reactions.

A few weeks later.  On a Tuesday.
I returned to my doctors office to see a nurse.
A nurse who would administer a needle.

I returned every subsequent Tuesday for over four fucking years.

An allergy shot.

Despite this standing appointment (16:20), I took a number, I waited.

For a needle, sometimes two.
Freshly drawn from a small vial with my name on it.
Always in a syringe two sizes larger then necessary.
The vial was refrigerated.  Presumably for freshness.
Full up with the very poisons (suspected) of causing the atopy on my lids.

The shot inflamed my arm and made me feel ill.
Sometimes, when the dosage changed, I had to wait to see the nurse before I could leave.

Another number.
Maybe two (or more) numbers if the wait wasn’t long enough.

The medical office used plastic numbers and not paper tear-aways.

I was forced to hold this same plastic number that only hours prior had been in the sweaty clutches of some gross old person.
They probably died holding it.

Minutes or hours.

Regardless of dosage, those shots left me under the weather for two (or more) days.

After a year or a few, I didn’t sit alone.  I sat with my brothers, whom had since been diagnosed with the same affliction.
Although they showed no symptoms, no red eye lids, they did have tubes in their ears.
They had to insert Silly Putty when they swam.
I felt superior.  But I didn’t have any Silly Putty.

My mom usually went grocery shopping on Tuesdays.
We didn’t have much time back then.

We certainly couldn’t afford new pillows back then.

We kept the dog and the cats.
They were, afterall, part of the family.

When I was old enough, one Tuesday, I refused to go.
My eyes were still red.
They probably had to throw out the remaining vials or change the names on them.

Every morning when I showered.  I started to use a warm cloth, held it on my eye lids.  It felt good.
They were never red again.
Sometimes, now, they go black.

The next time I saw my doctor, years later, he was pleased that the shots had worked so well.

Even if it IS allergies.

I hope it’s what’s going around.

Mom.
I know you long since stopped reading.
Too much ‘cult’, not enough ‘bike.
But for the record.
I don’t really blame you.
I’m just sayin’.
Honest.

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