Where does the good go

How bad could life in a bubble be?

How bad could life in a bubble be?

My allergist is a mortician. I mean, he is an allergist, with degrees and a sign out front that says ‘allergist’, but once you descend the two stories into the dark, clinical basement where his office is and he greets you in a black suit and a eerily white shirt…well, funereal for $500, Alex.

I’ve only seen him once before, that year I realized that I had $1500 in my flex savings account with only two weeks left in the year. And, having left New LLP with something like $400 in my medical savings account, I am, once again, trying to buy as much medical attention as I can before August ends.

All that to explain why I found myself waiting at the banks of the river Styx for the undertaker…um…allergist.

“Hello, Dawn Summers. Dawn, come in.”

I swallowed hard and followed him to “the back room.”

He took his seat behind his desk, opened my embarassingly thin folder and began to recap my respiratory/allergy history.

“When you were last here, Ms. Summers…Dawn, you reported mild asthma symptoms and sneezing, particuarly during the Spring time. Is this correct?”

Brief flash of lawyer mode: “Is this correct” currently? or is it correct that that’s what I said when I was last here?

But creeped out patient mode easily overwhelmed any bantering impulse.

“Uh..yeah…but the asthma has been getting worse.”

“I will get to that, Ms. Summers, Dawn.”

I imagine that he had recently come back from some medical seminar, probably titled ‘How to seem less like the harbinger of death,’ where the instructor suggested putting the patient at ease by using their first name rather than the formal title. However, since he was the actual harbinger of death, this was most antithetical to his very nature.

He continued to repeat, one ominous paragraph after another, all the things I had told him on my last visit. And I continued to supply him with compliant “yeses” and suppress the urge to run.

“Now, tell me what brings you here today?”

Obviously, insanity.

I explained about my recent difficulties breathing.

He then led me to another room where he administered a breathing test.

Although I didn’t think it was possible, his face contorted into an even bleaker expression.

“Let’s try that one more time, shall we Ms. Summers, Dawn?”

After my second test, he disappeared into the back room for a moment.

He returned with my chart.

“Please follow me, Ms….Dawn.”

Soo, close.

We went back to the first room and he returned to his chair behind the desk.

“Have you started smoking?”


“Has someone in your family started smoking?”


“Well, your tests are troubling. Your lung capacity has decreased significantly in two years. At results in the 80s, we are looking for permanent lung damage. You scored a 90 the first time and a 92 the second time.”

Woo hoo, A-!

He continued.

“It appears, you have become sensitive to the air, which is,” and here he leaned back in his chair “problematic.”

Grreeeeaaaaaat. To think, I thought avoiding peanuts was hard.

The list of things a person with “air sensitivity” needs to avoid is long and humorous. Oh and I suggest all of you buy stock in any company selling hypo-allergenic products, because they cost an arm and a leg, but the people who need them have to buy them or they die.

But my very favorite of the list of things I must do now: wearing dark glasses whenever I go to prevent air particles from entering my body through my eyes.

That’s right. Who wears sunglasses at night?

One Response to “How bad could life in a bubble be?”

  1. Karol Says:

    Dude. I have two words for you and those words are ‘second opinion’.

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