One of my friends said, "At least you aren't allergic to writing!"
*sigh*
She's right. I'm not. But I am allergic to everything else in my life.
Horses
Dogs
Cats
Grasses
Trees
Molds
The list goes on and on.
The nurse, the discomfort, confusion and pity crossing her kind face, after finishing the diagnostic test, wasn't sure how to answer the desperation, the fear, and, yes, the heartbreak in my voice. I tried to explain, but the words bubbled in my belly, unable to move.
So she fell back to her rote script. "I am here to educate you." Desperately, “You could do nothing and forget we ever did this test.”
But, as I told her, my voice quiet and shaky, “Once you know, you can’t unlearn it.”
My whole life—changed in a moment.
For others, perhaps not devastating. But she told me, “Everything.”
She didn’t understand that she meant my life.
Only once did she break though her script, and say, "You are an educated person. You'll know what to do."
But this time the education was too painful, ripping my sense of superiority. My stomach clenched, my eyes tried to see through the haze.
Betrayed by my own body.
I've diligently, even fanatically, only used non-carcinogenic household cleaners on my family for last 13 years. My family and I are not going to die from cancers caused by carcinogens. I don’t smoke or do drugs. I don’t drink to excess. I try to eat healthily. I stomp my foot and declared it to myself and all who will listen.
Yet, it's not the carcinogens that hurt my body; it's the natural things, the things that I seek out for solace, for peace.
The sand and with it the sea.
The deep forests and the rocks, the trees of life, the birds.
Cheeses, wines—oh, the flora, the exquisite sensual flavors on my tongue.
Old books full of wisdom from people long dead, the musty smell like old perfume just waiting to bless me one more time.
Antiques to never forget the past, bringing a history to everyday.
The animals who fill and fulfill my life. The dogs who share my lap, my chair and my bed.
The cats, aloof and, yet, loving.
The horses. The majesty, kind and peace that no other of Nature's creatures can give. All that goes with them—grains, the delicious aroma of tender grass,
Burying my nose in it, listening to the musical notes of horses feeding.
The Nature that I, yes, worship, has let me down. No, not only forsaken me but become the Enemy. This allergy to *everything* in my life is not just physical, it's fundamental. The essence of my spirituality stems from a oneness with the Nature that God has created, and my body betrays me.
It seems so melodramatic, I know, and the poor nurse didn't understand--and, for once, the words couldn't come. They were trapped behind the wall of fear and betrayal and anger that I couldn't break through. Only sleep and then writing allowed those words and the answers to draw closer, be coaxed out and then freed.
Where do I go from here? Study, seek out medicines, alternatives, advice from friends who care.
But I can’t forget, and the knowledge has changed the colors of my life. Diminished the pleasures, knowing that my body rejects the very things that give me pleasure.
My friend is right, though. I’m not allergic to writing.
It is within the words themselves that Nature will give back the tranquility that’s been taken away. Perhaps it’s the way to, paradoxically, draw closer within elemental world by overcoming the allergy through the search for contentment within the world around me.
Find the calm, allow the words to flow and retrieve the colors of my world.
