The fire (within? without?)

I have many medical ailments. I'm like an old lady trapped inside a thirty-year-old's body. I don't know why. I read an amazingly insulting article about how people with one of my ailments are the whiniest asinine people ever and that cancer patients are better off mentally. Written by a Ph.D Psychologist, I could only think, “ Dude, if you hate sick people that much, please get a new job.”

I have bad nasal allergies. Chronic rhinitoid sinusitis. Isn’t that the most amazing name for sneezing ever? I used to always get my allergist write the scariest letters in the world to teachers and administrators about the limitations on my actions because of my “chronic rhinitoid sinusitis.” It ruled. In grade school, I never had to participate in “clean the classroom” day. Or clean chalkboard erasers. It probably added to how much my classmates hated me and tortured me, but it made me feel special, smiling, sitting at my desk while my classmates wiped down bookshelves. I have outgrown my nasal allergies to some extent—I’m NOTHING like I was as a child and young-adult--but I’m still a nose-dripper and sneezer pretty often.

I never really had skin allergies though. Amazingly, my little sister is allergic to Vaseline. Vaseline is in so many skin care products, whether you realize it or not, so she’s limited to bizarre prescription skin treatment potions. When I visit her house, I use them in secret because they really do feel better. Adds to my evil, right?

But where have I developed skin allergies as an adult? My armpits. They’re on fire lately, and I have no idea what’s triggering it. I want to scratch and claw at my armpits but I know it will only make the symptoms worse, so I sit and try to think about something other than my armpits. It’s hard. Have you had athlete’s foot or something? How do you keep from thinking about burning toes? That’s how I feel about my armpits. They’re there, gnawing at me. “Christine, we sting and hurt! Don’t think about us! Just imagine that you’re fine.”

Net result? I stink. I’m so allergic that I can’t use deodorant. There are two deodorants that I can use intermittently, but not consistently. Winter, I’m so proud of myself that I don’t smell like a barn animal. Summer? I don’t raise my arms around people. It’s humiliating. And painful. I feel stink rays radiating off of me, especially today. I don’t know why today is so bad—like I said I don’t know what triggered this particular reaction—but I feel deadly odor laser beams striking out from my underarms every time I have to gesture.

I try to just imagine I’m European.