To Sneeze, Perchance To Die

Allergies have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My memories of childhood are full of irritated eyes, runny noses, sniffling, sneezing, nasal congestion, postnasal drip, mucus everywhere, inability to sleep, asthma, bronchitis, and eczema. I had pneumonia a couple of times and ended up in the ER at least five times. I didn’t know that life could be any different. My parents and siblings also had allergies, though mine were the worst. I was especially allergic to cats. We had a cat. The cat had been there before any of us kids. We all loved that cat. There was never any question of getting rid of the cat. None of us would have let the cat go.

I also had a stuffed toy cat, covered in real rabbit fur. It was my favorite toy, and I was extremely allergic to it. I also loved that cat. I used to sleep with it every night, holding it against my cheek. I remember once there was talk of taking my stuffed animal away from me, because it made me so sick. I wouldn’t let them.

I was also allergic to dogs, horses, dust, pollen, trees, grasses—all things there were a lot of, in Montana. If it had pollen or fur, I was allergic to it.

In those days, allergy treatment was not very sophisticated. All through my childhood, we used a little blue pill, called pyrabenzamine. It’s a primitive antihistamine. It’s also an opiate; gangs used to traffic in it during the ‘60s and ‘70s; users combined it with Talwin (pentazocine) when they couldn’t get heroin. Pyrabenzamine is no longer manufactured. When we were babies, mom would ask us if we wanted a “blue pill.” But by the time we were four, we would ask for “pyrabenzamine” with no problem. At that age we took a quarter tablet, mashed up in some wet sugar. One time I was responsible for dispensing medication to my younger brother. I got confused and gave him a whole tablet. He didn’t wake up for a while.