Why, you may be asking, is there a plate of prescription medication with a side of over-the-counter drugs en blister-pack papillote? Why?
That is my breakfast every day for the next five days, that's why. The pills are to be washed down not with a morning cup of coffee, and certainly not with any juice from a fruit. No, no, plain water only, for I may be allergic...to anything. Yes, last night, I had to go to the hospital after being mercilessly attacked by my own immune system, dropping histamine hand-grenades all over my body and leaving every inch of my skin completely covered with itchy, scratchy, hateful little hives. They're a nuisance, no need to go to the hospital except that my throat was starting to swell, and you know what they say about oxygen.
I have no idea what caused such a severe allergic reaction. Most likely it is food-related, but reactions to food usually occur fairly soon after consuming it. This creeped up on me out of nowhere.
Having spent the better part of the last few days trying to catch my blog up to my life by sifting through hundreds of digital pictures of my trip to Chicago and Milwaukee, shuffling through my travel notes that were hand-written on pages of my travel journal, hastily scribbled on the backs of menus, and carved as hieroglyphics on the inside of matchbook covers, I decided to take a break. You know, to take care of myself. Food blogging does weird things to you - like, you will go for days without plucking your eyebrows because you just don't have time between baking a souffle, and doing its photo shoot and reassuring it that it's absolutely not fat when it sees a little bit of puff roll over the edge of its ramekin. Besides, you don't see anyone except your laptop, and he's as grimy as you are.
I tore myself away from The Delicious Life, from email, and from IM to sit down at the vanity. I started to pluck. It was easy. When you pluck on a regular basis, tweezing requires a close eye to find those little specks of black pepper and a manual dexterity that could sweep the finals in the Operation championship. However, when you haven't plucked in a week, it's as easy as finding...hay in a haystack.
Pluck pluck pluck, and as I moved from my right eyebrow to the left, I noticed a little bit of swelling on the bottom outside corner of my left eye. Weird. I pulled away from the mirror to see my whole face and...What the?! My eye looked like a very small cranberry had sprouted, just under the first layer of skin.
I thought it might have been an overgrown zit of some sort, but it didn't hurt. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't because it was itchy. I kept plucking, with an occasional gentle tap with the back of my tweezers to scratch to the cranberry.
Well, no need for the details of every subsequent bump that appeared on my body, but suffice it to say that I basically went from zero to nine bajillion over the course of two hours. I went to the hospital, they gave me a very painful shot in "the hip" and some drugs like benadryl but not benadryl because that makes me hallucinate. I recounted every single thing that I ate up until that moment, and was sent home with an order to see an allergist because obviously, glutton that I am, I had eaten way too many things to narrow it down to even a few suspects.
So this is what I get to eat for breakfast. And I just can't get that one line from that stupid song by Spandau Ballet out of my head.