Sucker Punch

 

For years, people have poked fun, mostly in gest (I hope), regarding how much shit I'm allergic to.  These days, it's mostly foods that I need to be wary of, although there are some outside factors that can send me spinning into turmoil.

Allergic to the usual stuff, like nuts and sunflower seeds, which I don't even need to come in contact with.  If someone simply opens a bag or has a sandwich with peanut butter on it, my lungs tend to close up and breathing becomes laboured.  I'm also allergic to things like honey and beer and so many things that I doubt there's room to fit everything.  Chick peas, I learned the hard way, consuming some hummus at a restaurant many years ago.  My throat had closed off completely by the time I'd found a hospital emergency room that was open at 10pm.  This was when I found out that the City Hospital will not allow anyone in, no matter how bad they need medical attention.  Or at least that's how it was, twenty-plus years ago.

The one benefit to these allergies is that most of the foods that vegans and vegetarians (is there really a difference? 🤔) consume, is made with some item of food that I am deathly allergic to.  Sadly, that is the one and only benefit.  I'm allergic to dogs, so I doubt I'll ever be able to have a dog as a pet.  And I'm also allergic to beer, so there's no hanging out with the boys on the weekend, getting f*cked up and acting stupid.  Those who truly know me, though, are well aware that I'm able to act stupid, sans alcohol.

I'm also extremely allergic to perfume.  If women simply dab a little on, it bothers me, but I get over it quickly, but then there are those women who don't believe "just a dab will do", but choose to douse themselves with that nasty shit so that they don't just smell like whatever this shit is, but the environment around them does too.  One such lady boarded my bus on Monday and the smell has sent me reeling.  I've been sick for two, going on three days, so far.

I'm able to bounce back rather resiliently, but when my senses are overwhelmed, I find myself spiraling and I'm not even certain how to get out of the trouble it causes.  For three days, I've been sniffling, sneezing and coughing.  I've coughed so much that I swear my abs must look like a six pack, by now. (I haven't checked the mirror, but I'm happy to assume.)

The most unfortunate thing is I'm unable to go into the local drugstore, just down the street, as the moment you walk into the store, you're blasted in the face by a toxic mix of perfumes wafting towards the open doorway from the perfume counter greeting you immediately, like a slap in the face.  Like getting struck with a punch you weren't prepared for and as often as I visit this branch of Shopper's Drug Mart, I always forget that the perfume counter is right there.

For a company who prides themselves in the "ability" to help the public in need of remedies, they have a strange way of doing this.  Knowing how triggered many people's allergies are from just a whiff of perfume, WHY place the perfume counter at the front of the store?  The pharmacy should be in the front of the store and the perfume counter stuck back in the rear corner, away from the general public.

It's like the bulk store, putting nuts and peanuts at the front of the store.  I walk in there to grab some parmesan cheese, gummy bears or simulated bacon bits and I'm immediately punched in the stomach by rows of pecans, walnuts and peanuts.  Who designs this shit?  They need a firm smack upside the head.  Reboot that brain of theirs.

I remember as a kid, having such violent allergy attacks that it'd require my being placed in the hospital overnight or for a day or two.  I think it was my cousin's wedding that I went to, but had to stay in the Tisdale hospital, because we stayed at my aunt and uncles house, where they had a cocker spaniel.  Sparky, I believe his name was, but that's about all I recall of that dog.  That and he was completely black and would consistently make me sick beyond all belief.  Puffy eyes and laboured breathing.  I'd be hitting my asthma inhaler like a crackhead does his pipe, thus inducing an asthma attack, which for those unfamiliar is a scary situation.  Especially as a kid.  Each breath is a struggle.

As an adult, I've learned many techniques to avoid placing myself in such peril, but unfortunately, my job involves interactions with the public and that's a factor that I'm not in control of.  I can't predict the fool who will board the bus, ask me a question and spit a half cup of saliva on me in the process, just as I can't predict the woman who will dump a bottle of perfume on herself, instead of showering to get rid of her stink.  If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears.

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Four: Coping Mechanisms

I did a lot of homework before I bought my truck in 2008.  I wanted bang for my buck.  I wanted to get as much as I possibly could for one price.  Initially, I was going to buy the Honda CRV, crossover, but I read that the vehicle didn't offer much by way of good gas mileage.  Then I considered the Ford Escape Hybrid, but read that if taken on the highway, the fuel consumption was higher than the V6 model.  Then I set my sights on the Honda Ridgeline pick-up truck.  The gas mileage was great.  It was a unibody, it rides great.  It's all the comforts of a car, including a trunk located in the box.  It had a lot of umph!  Get up and go.  I test drove the Ridgeline a number of times, then when the day came to buy, I went into the dealership, knowing exactly what I wanted, and called out "no bullshit".  My research was so precise that when I requested the gold accents on the logo and name placard, I knew the order code.

So what does this have to do with coping with stress, anxiety and depression?  I'll get to that eventually.  My point is this.  I don't do hardly anything without looking into every possible avenue.  I want that umph.  I want the most bang for my buck.  I want to tackle everything efficiently.  And I feel I have.

As stated in Chapter One, I suffer from something that I call "Seasonal Depression".  I've never formally been diagnosed by my physician for depression, but I'm not a f*cking idiot.  If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, there's a 99% chance (+/- 1%) that it's a f*cking duck!  So if for more than ten years I've been gloomy, sad and depressed from Halloween through to just after my mom and sister's birthday's, chances are I suffer from depression.

This year I decided to try something new.  I began listening to online podcasts about a year and a half ago, with a majority of it culminating in the last year.  I listen to a great many different podcasters, of whom include, Adam Corolla, Kevin Smith & Scott Mosier, Ari Shaffir, Joe Rogan, and I especially like Bert Kreischer (though I constantly f*ck up the spelling of his name) and Doug Benson.

In addition to his love of movies, Doug Benson is a notorious pot smoker, and like Joe Rogan, promotes the positive medicinal attributes that marijuana provides.  The more I listened, the more I began to wonder.  I wondered if smoking marijuana would improve my "seasonal depression", so I set forth to do my due diligence.  I researched the f*ck out of the benefits of smoking marijuana and any negatives that it might create.  After all, inhaling smoke is not a naturally occurring phenomena, although the first nations people have been smoking different plants in their rituals for hundreds or even thousands of years, so... Who knows?

Everything I read on the subject reflected nothing but positivity, zero negatives, other than putting on a few pounds.  So I moved forward with this "experiment" and yes.  I'm coming out in this chapter of this blog series, that I smoke pot, but just for the medicinal purposes.  I'm not a daily smoker.  I only use it as needed.  I've not used any in a couple of weeks, and the effects of not using have been tremendous.  I've been sad and depressed for more than a week.  My friend made a remark the other day and it broke my heart.  I was truly hurt.  That's my downfall.  I can seem fine, then one off remark can send me spiraling and it's every ounce of courage to regain my composure.  The remark was in reference to my blogs, my subject matter and though they were enjoyable, they were equally inappropriate.  We've made amends, not that we were squabbling, but it's taken me every shred of confidence and will to dig myself out of this hole I find myself in.  I think this is, in part, due to my not medicating myself.  I have a lot of stress on my shoulders.  Unemployment being one.  Health issues are in the back of my mind.  Loneliness, despite having a cat, is still loneliness.

Since starting this new chapter of smoking pot, I've found it beneficial in overcoming most of my "seasonal depression", the migraines that plague me throughout the colder months have been VERY few and far between, which I relish immensely, and much to my surprise, my asthma has improved, as well.  I usually have to rely on one inhaler a month (roughly) to combat my breathing issues.  During the more frequent usage of marijuana, my asthma was not an issue, hardly.  Maybe a puff every other day.  Put it this way.  I got an inhaler just before Christmas, and I'm still on the same inhaler more than a month later.  In recent weeks, with the decline of smoking, I've had to rely on it a little more, but it's still pretty impressive I think.

So I did my homework and got the best truck for me.  I did my homework and got the best television SmartTV, that I could get.  And I did my research to learn that marijuana in addition to a plethora of other advantages, also quashes my depression.  I don't know why it's illegal.  I really don't.

Progress

I was born an asthmatic.  When I was a kid, my breathing was really f*cked.  I could barely move without running out of breath and I was even hospitalized on a few occasions.  There were a couple of times when my future looked pretty f*cking bleak.

Thankfully, later on in life, I learned to control my breathing a little better, finding that many (of my) asthma attacks were instigated by anxiety.  Sometimes, if I found myself without my inhaler, I'd feel panic overwhelm me, quickly followed by a heaviness in my chest.  Since then, I'm able to relax myself to a point where I'm able to breathe easy.

What I find outrageous, nowadays, is when I leave my house without my Salbutamol asthma inhaler, I feel fine.  Even if I'm only a block or two from my house, a distance close enough where returning to my house isn't an inconvenience of any sort, I seldom turn the car around.  Even when driving the convertible, where I'm more susceptible to elements like dust and pollen, I rarely return home.  However, when I'm out in the world and realize I don't have my cell phone, I almost come undone.

A few short years ago, I never saw the point of carrying a cell phone.  I was one of the last people to start carrying a cell phone and today, I feel f*cking lost if I don't have my cell phone in my pocket.  I'm even guilty of calling into work sick one morning, because I woke up to my cell phone with a dead battery, because I was afraid I'd have to talk to another human being on my coffee breaks.  How f*cking sad is that?  A few years ago, I didn't have a problem engaging in small talk, yet today I'm afraid to utter a single word.

My asthma inhaler is a definite instrument that can save my life if the chips are down.  I barely use my cell phone as a f*cking telephone, yet I feel completely lost and helpless if I don't have it in my pocket.  How f*cked is that?  I guess that's called progress.

Out With A Bang, In With An OUCH!!

The beginning of 2013 had me fighting a bad case of pneumonia, followed by a few months of worry and concern, with return visits for X rays and CT Scans, following the progress of, what was described to me as a "black mass" on my lung.  That turned out to not be as serious as was initially believed. (Phew!)  Then the last half of December, I found myself sick, again, which I eventually found myself battling an excruciating bout of pneumonia, once again.  That fight took up most (if not all) of my two week shutdown break from work.  Yay!  At least the weather was shitty and cold, so I never had much need (or desire) to leave the comforts of my house.

January 2nd, 2014, was my first day back to work.  While I didn't feel a 100%, I did feel (or so I thought) well enough to return to work.  I knew that there'd be at least a couple of people still gone with extended vacations, but we were down four in actuality.  I managed to muscle through my Thursday, but with a badgering cough that was fueling an exasperating headache.  With every frenzied cough attack, the world would fade through my eyes and the painful pounding would commence.  Thankfully, it being the first day back, my job wasn't too strenuous and was easily manageable, despite the discomfort.

The fight never ceased after the final bell rang and it was home time.  I came home to a snowy driveway, packed with hardened snow that I foolishly took a stab at clearing.  The hard packed snow had accumulated a few days prior, so much so that it blocked my front door, which caused the bottom of the door to bend and tear away, upon my exit on Tuesday.  (Great!  More expense out of pocket.)  The temperature had warmed up significantly, but not enough to avoid heavy breathing.  With my asthma, I find that the cooler temperatures really have an adverse effect on me.  Especially since the discovery of the "black mass" on my lung.  Earlier in the season, with the dropping Mercury, I found my breathing to be difficult and laboured, at best.  This is something that the specialist relayed to me as the norm for the remainder of my days.  (I really gotta win that lottery, so I can retire to Texas or Arizona.  Or maybe New Zealand.  That place looks like it could be kinda cool..., except for all the god damned Orcs.)

Thursday night and Friday morning was disturbing.  It seemed for every thirty minute to hour patch of sleep, I'd be woken up abruptly with a coughing frenzy.  Even in the darkness of my bedroom, with my head pounding hard, my surroundings seemed to fade from my view.  Reluctantly, I contacted my employer in the morning, notifying that I regretfully would not be coming into work.  I hate leaving them in a lurch like that, despite my boss thinking that I do.  I went back to sleep for (thankfully) a very restful hour, before I got up and drove myself to the hospital.  This is something that I really should have addressed over my break, but I had my pal's van while he and his family were on vacay in Florida and I didn't want them to come home to needing to be taxied to my house to pick up their van.  However, I do think that if I'd had addressed my illness in a more timely fashion, my current predicament could've been avoided, possibly.

I was hooked up to a nebulizer, where medication was administered into my lungs.  "Breath deeply." I was instructed by the wee little blonde nurse.  On completion of that, I was ushered to the X ray department to get an X ray done, then ushered back after that.

The beginning of 2013, I fought a terrific case of pneumonia.  The end of 2013 had me fighting the worst bout of pneumonia (or any sickness I've ever experienced, including Swine Flu in 2009), and now, I'm barely ankle deep into 2014, and I'm forced to fight a f*cking lung infection??

I don't subscribe to any sort of religion and you'll never see me crouching at my bedside with hands clenched, praying for this or that, but in case I'm terribly mistaken, if there is a God, he'd better bless me with a substantial lottery win pretty f*ckin' soon.  I've paid more than my fair share of dues in this shitty life of mine.  I deserve a god damned break.  This inability to breath, bullshit, is just that.  Bullshit!!