The allergist

Today Mike went to the allergist, and as his faithful wife I tagged along. I figured he'd need some company while enduring his scratch tests. I also needed to bolster Mike up while we paid for the entire visit out of pocket, a fee of about a thousand dollars, since we haven't met Mike's insanely high deductible. It was painful, but it was also worth it if it would help Mike's asthma and overall well-being.

After much questioning, scratching, poking, and waiting, we have our answer. Mike is allergic to...

...cats!

Well, we knew that. When we first started dating and he'd come over to my apartment, we'd periodically have to sit out on the balcony becuase he'd get wheezy breathing Rusty and Cider's dander. But he's gotten pretty used to the cats, so we figured it wasn't the only problem. He had to have additional allergies. The surprising thing we found out was that he was also allergic to...

...nothing else.

That's right. The scratch tests were negative for everything else. The only allergy Mike has is the cats.

Now, one of the reasons Mike put off visiting the allergist and pulmonologist for so long was because he was afriad they'd tell us to get rid of our cats. My mom and I assured him that they wouldn't just tell him to dump the cats, and that there had to be other things that could be done, medicines or injections that could be tried, before we gave serious thought to giving away the cats.

When the allergist was giving Mike the results of the testing, he told us that cats were the only allergy, which was surprising. He then told us the treatment...avoiding the cats. He said he knew that we wouldn't just give them away, but we had to keep them out of our bedroom at the very least. Even better would be relegating them to the laundry room or basement. The best thing would be removal.

He then said that he wouldn't give Mike shots for the allergy. After all, the problem could be solved by giving away the cats. He said he gave shots for people with allergies to ragweed, trees, or pollen, things that couldn't be avoided. Having cats was a choice, and he said that if he gave Mike the shots, it would only encourage us to keep them.

Pardon me?

I was irate. Part of it was hormones, and part of it was indignation. If Mike is willing to pay for the shots and endure the inconvenience of getting them, why not give them? Why make a judgment about what is and is not necessary to our lives? I'm not arguing that having cats is as necessary as going outside, but at the same time, would it hurt to try shots or a strong oral antihistamine for awhile before taking that step?

Instead he presented Mike with some nasal spray and a sample of a higher dose of Advair. I restrained myself from giving him the middle finger.

After we left I angrily called my mom the nurse, who agreed with me that he should have provided the shots if he thought they'd be beneficial. After that Mike and I talked a little about who could take the cats, if it came to that. My mom said she'd take Rutsy and Cider, and Mike's parents might take Edison, if his brother ever moves out. Maybe he could get by with just Lucky and Juneau around. I started to tear up a little bit at the thought of packing them up and giving them away.

We're going to try some things first. The higher dose of Advair, daily wet-mopping and placing our air purifier in a room after vacuuming, and making sure we keep the cats out of the bedroom every night. And, in a perfect world, seeing a new allergist.

Biking

Awhile ago I wrote about going to the gym with Mike. Well, we never made it. I couldn't stand the thought of going, so we skipped it. I felt bad, though, so we moved on to Plan B...getting an exercise bike.

I put out an ad on Craigslist offering to buy used exercise equipment, including treadmills and bikes. I got tons of responses, but after taking a good, hard look at our apartment I realized that there was no room anywhere. Mike disagrees, but that's not surprising since we have very different decorating styles. I like open, airy spaces. Mike likes things crammed in and is okay as long as there's a tiny path to get from room to room. Still, the idea of shoving another piece of furniture into our already crowded living room was intolerable, so I moved on to Plan C...using my actual bike.

Mike loves biking, but had mostly given up on it by the end of last summer because of his asthma. Before then he'd done fundraiser rides and used his bike from commuting. Now that he's on Advair and is semi-stabilized he's eager to hop back on, and he wants me along for the ride. Last summer I bought a cheap Huffy with intentions of joining him, but his ability to breathe waned right along with my enthusiasm, so we never went anywhere. However, this summer I'm determined to accompany him on a ride or two.

On Monday I had to go over to a friend's house to pick up an application to work for her company this summer. I had beaten traffic and gotten home earlier than usual, so instead of driving there I figured I'd enjoy the beautiful day and walk. But then I got the bright idea to ride instead. Why not start breaking in the bike early?

I walked around to the back of the house to retrieve my bike. It had stayed out all winter, and to my dismay I saw the handlebars, chain, and fenders were covered with dots of rust. Mike had assured me that he could Dremel it off for me but in the meantime it looked decrepit. I figured that nobody would notice me on the mile-long ride to her apartment, so I threw my leg over my bike and pushed off.

I thought the rusty chain was interfering with my ability to pedal...or, at least, that's what I told myself as I struggled to get the bike going. I got to my first huge hill, and had to hop off my bike and push it up the hill. I consoled myself that this was a hill that Mike and I avoided walking up since it was so steep, so I shouldn't feel bad about not being able to bike it. I felt dumb pushing my rusty bike along the sidewalk, but I was already too tired to care.

Once I got onto Brady Street I was able to pedal again, but as I turned my bike to head towards Cathedral Square I noticed the going was rough again. I glanced at the curb across the street and noticed something that I'd never noticed while driving or walking...the entire street was on a slight uphill. I groaned, got off my bike, pushed it a bit, and then climbed back on. I was starting to feel like I'd taken on too much.

The street eventually leveled out and I made it to my friend's apartment without much more trouble. I rode the entire way on the sidewalk, fearing the fast-moving rush hour traffic. I saw commuters on their shiny, slim bikes and felt like a poser, but I kept on pedaling.

Once I got to my friend's house I was seriously considering calling Mike and asking for a ride home. But I wasn't sure my bike would fit into his car and I felt like a pansy begging for a ride home, so I just went into the apartment building to get the application. Afterwards I came back out and faced my bike with no small amount of animosity. I was starting to hate biking. Screw the ozone layer, I was driving everywhere from now on.

The one good thing about the ride there being mostly uphill is that the ride back was mostly downhill. I barely had to pedal at all, and the huge hill I walked my bike up was almost scary to coast down. Eventually I pulled up to our apartment at the same time Mike did, and he walked me to the backyard to lock up my bike again. As we walked to the front door I asked him to carry me, but he couldn't quite do it as I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him piggyback-style. Apparently a few more hours of biking wouldn't hurt.

The next morning I was eager to get out riding again, so I suppose it won't be too tough of a habit to take up, especially since my summer job will be within biking distance. Mike wants to try a long-distance ride, but it'll be awhile before we get to that. He has to get all the rust off my fenders first.

You mean your cats don't email you?

Several months ago I was having a terrible day and Mike was wracking his brain trying to think of something cool to do to cheer me up. The fact that we were both at work made it tough. Eventually he took out a Gmail account under Lucky's name, and had "the cat" email me. Since then he's taken out more accounts, and every once in awhile I get a funny email in my inbox from one of the cats.

Recently I got this from "Edison."

Hi Christine,

As you may already know, Wednesday March 28th is "Take your kitten to work day." Juneau and I are both hoping you'll take us to your job as a Speech Speaking Talker, but under the rules of TYKTWD, you can only take one of us. As such I think you should take me. I would be really helpful with your students. I could tell the smelly kid to be less smelly, and I could teach that one kid cat sign language.

I also have perfect diction

"The pain in Maine falls gainly on the plane."

If you want I can submit an entire application packet including my resume.

Out,

E

Unfortunately, March 28th is during my spring break, so there will be no kitten at work for me.

It's goofy and silly, but those emails make my day.

Today's Photo

march19
Originally uploaded by Lucky Haskins.

Welcome to our backyard, complete with St. Francis statue, river, and out-of-control branches.

Baby Shopping

One of my cousins is having a baby soon, so yesterday Mike and I went shopping for her shower.

This is not the first time I’ve shopped for a baby shower, and I know it won’t be the last. Therefore, as the pages flitted out of the registry printer I felt a familiar sense of foreboding. I hate shopping for baby showers. I always feel so clueless.

Mike and I walked into the baby aisle and I totaled up the prices of a few items in my head. Mike touched a little stuffed horse on a shelf. “Wow, how cute,” he said, stroking its nose.

“Maybe you should be doing this shopping instead of me then, since you’re enjoying it,” I said.

“Sure! What’s first on the list?” Mike asked. As a veteran of retail, he’s always confident he can find what I’m looking for.

I squinted at the list. “How about…a onesie.” I sighed. “I’m not even completely sure what that is.”

“Well, just give me the item number,” Mike said, looking at the merchandise tags.

As we perused the aisles I felt a rising sense of anxiety. It was like when I took exams in college and I didn’t know the material. I seemed to be surrounded by stuff that I had no clue about, but someday I’d need to know, I’d be responsible for knowing, someone’s welfare would count on me knowing. How do you work those fancy diaper pails? How do you attach a car seat? More importantly, how the hell do you learn those things? Is there a book? Is there a class? Or was I absent from school on the day all the girls were taught how to be mothers, and now it’s too late?

“Here,” Mike said, pressing some baby clothes into my hands. “Do we need anything else?”

“Um,” I said, “how about some wrapping?” At least I know how to do that.

We went home and I quickly put the gifts into a gift bag and arranged tissue paper around it. I felt pleased that I could at least wrap baby items, even if I couldn’t use them.

One of my friends is pregnant right now too, and laughs at my insistence that I wait until I’m thirty to have kids. She says that it’s silly to wait now that I’m married, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. I need that time to learn how to care for an infant, how to manage parenting responsibilities, and how to tell what a onesie is.