Hey, remember that one time that I changed my entire lifestyle to holistically banish chronic idiopathic urticaria? (For those that need a refresher, that’s medical speak for inexplicable, random hives…) When I gave up wheat and sugar and birthday cake and my work bff’s acclaimed homemade cupcakes? And brought home Girl Scout cookies and Fazoli’s breadsticks and high-season fresh sweet corn, and didn’t eat any of it? Remember? Not to spoil the rant here, but… the hives are back. Back in the way that the flu circles an elementary school. You think you’re home-free, you think you made it, and then… wham. Back like the way the warranty department for your 5-year-old vehicle pretends for a few months that they listened when you said, Seriously. Stop calling. And then, just as you can no longer quite identify their number on caller ID… What. the. heck. I thought we were through! But… we’re back.
The seasons are changing, so there are more allergens in the air, for sure. This is a completely unscientific hive hypothesis on my part. When I first got hives, it was in transient March. Sweet, simple, uncomplicated March 2014… at happy hour, unseasonably warm, so we sat outside and I had caprese salad, because I was still eating dairy, and … huh. What’s that weirdness on my wrist and hand? Probably nothing. Probably just a little contact dermatitis… How little I knew. And yes, I remember what I ate. Don’t judge me.
And so, after 9 months or so of hivey, defeatist self-indulgence, I started making the changes chronicled in this very blog. Ironically, the only time I’ve been getting hives in the past 6 months or so is when I exercise. Thanks for that, body. You’re a real team player. But the random, wake up in the morning with weirdly symmetrical hives down my legs and up my arms? It felt like that corner had been turned.
But now, as I look at the 8 small hives currently on my wrist, and 3 on the back of my hand, I think 1) that’s not so bad. Not ideal, but not so bad. This I can handle. This is not defining. This is not bad luck, it just is, and it’s a molehill to the mountains others are climbing. And 2) compared to March 2014, now I have hives on a body that feels better, is a little stronger, a little leaner. I’m not saying I’m drinking champagne about it. There’s no welcome committee. A few new hives weren’t in the plan, and I’m not thrilled. Maybe by the time Starbucks packs up their pumpkin spice, they’ll be gone again, or maybe they’ll stay through the holidays like that last guest at the party. Regardless, I’m living more today than I was before they arrived way back when. I’m carving out more time, making better choices. Maybe a few hives are a reminder that it’s a journey, not a race, and not a stagnant destination.
When I first noticed new hives this week, I immediately took a picture of them, and sent it to my mom. Why do you do that, my oldest daughter asked. Children are observant. It’s a good lesson to learn early in parenthood. Why do I do that? Why does my mother have the photo archives of a WebMD page? Because it’s a molehill, and a footnote, and it’s all part of the journey. Because I have well-earned wisdom gained through adversity. But I gave up breadbaskets and birthday cake! And who will always treat your molehill as a mountain? Who will sympathize and soothe? And not block your texts? No matter how old you get, Sam, and no matter your molehills, or your mountains, I promise to do the same for you.
