To Sneeze, Perchance To Die

When I hit adolescence, the only positive thing was that our family cat no longer seemed to bother me. Somehow my system had adjusted to her. Or maybe my system just had other things to worry about.

When I went away to college I was no longer exposed to cats, dogs, and horses; and I didn’t go home the first two summers; so I went for a whole year and a half without violent allergic reactions. When I went home for Christmas my sophomore year, however, my mother and I discovered immediately that I was more allergic than ever to cats.

It was very cold, and I had nowhere else to go. I became asthmatic right away, and my breathing became more and more difficult. I would crawl to the window at night and hang my head out the window, trying desperately to get some air.

My mom wanted to take me to the doctor, but I didn’t want to go. I wanted to hide from the world. Finally, in the middle of the night, when I thought I was really going to suffocate, I let her take me to the emergency room. I was diagnosed with acute asthma and pneumonia. They stuck an IV in me and started giving me medications. I don’t know everything they gave me, but I know they gave me adrenalin, which made me feel like I was having a heart attack and made me panic more than ever. They also used a machine with a mask that fit over my nose and mouth, which forced air into my lungs. They said my lungs were so filled with fluid that I needed help breathing. That machine made me feel as if I was being strangled. My fear of it being used on me was so great that I would start sobbing when they hooked me up. They kept me there for several days.

When I was released, my mom put me in a motel room for the rest of my Christmas holiday. It was out on the highway that ran out of town. There wasn’t much around it; anyway I didn’t do much but lie in bed and read. My mom came to visit me every day. It was one of the most depressing holidays I’ve ever had.