It's (Not Exactly) the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Fifty-seven years ago, my parents were thrilled to welcome, not the boy they had wished for, but a second daughter.  Me.  

By all accounts, my birth was unremarkable (in that there were no complications), except that it was me, of course.

Prepared for midnight feedings and diaper changes, my parents brought me home from the hospital.  Only there wasn’t just midnight feedings and diaper changes.  There was a LOT of lost sleep!

Every time they laid me down to sleep, I stopped breathing.  My face turning a color that babies’ faces are not supposed to turn: blue.

This went on, not only for the first night.  Or the second night.  But for SIX MONTHS!

Six months during which my mom took me to our GP repeatedly  (back then, only the really sickly children went to a pediatrician).

Six months during which my mom had to sleep in a rocking chair, holding me upright, so that I wouldn’t turn the color of the ocean and more importantly, so that I’d keep breathing.  

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: my mom should be nominated for sainthood!

Finally, a friend of my Oma’s suggested my parents take me to a specialist.  Some new kind of doctor who specialized in Ear, Nose and Throat issues.

It only took a few minutes to diagnose my condition:  I had asthma.

A series of tests were run to determine what was setting it off.  When the panel came back, let’s just say it was about as long as the Nile.

I was allergic to mountain cedar, pine, molds, dust, and grass (GRASS, really?). To eggs and oranges and chocolate. CHOCOLATE!  Among other things.

Continued exposure to any of these could (and more times than not, did) trigger my asthma, which ultimately resulted in me getting bronchitis.  I remember the phrase ‘asthmatic bronchitis’ being used quite often.

I’m no doctor, but that sounded ten times worse than asthma!

Me not getting my head wet

And apparently, I was not supposed to get my head wet, except for when bathing. I’m not really sure what that has to do with asthma, but I know it was a thing.

I remember being on my grandparents’ farm and my sister and cousins and I were headed out to play in “the branch” (a small creek that came off of the creek that ran at the back of the farm).  

My parents, aunt, uncle and grandma always warned my sister to make sure I didn’t get wet!  Of course, I ended up in the branch on more than one occasion.  That’s a blog post for a different day.

Evan in front of
my parent's artificial tree

Growing up, I was the reason we could never have a real Christmas tree.  Oh, how I longed to have a real tree! I love everything about Christmas ('Twas the Night Before Christmas) and the smell of pine.  But as long as my parents wished to keep me alive, we were unable to have one.

My second year of college, my sister and I were sharing an apartment. I agreed to suffer in silence (if I suffered at all) when we got a REAL Christmas tree!

We had the best time decorating it. And looking at the lights. We were SO excited!

And I sneezed. And coughed. And sneezed some more.

But oh, it was worth it!

I don’t know what the remedy was when I was an infant, of course.

But I remember having to sleep with Vicks on my chest and throat and a swipe of it under my nose (or even rubbed just inside my nostrils).  One of my dad’s old t-shirts served as my night-shirt, his old handkerchief safety-pinned around my neck so that the Vicks didn’t rub off on the sheets.

A vaporizer, filled with liquid Vicks, seemingly ran non-stop.

And then there was the nastiness known as my cough medicine. A thick, yellow, mucus-like liquid (if it could even be considered a liquid!), the consistency of which was like glue. It was the world’s most unpleasant, disgusting, vile, vomit-inducing cough medicine.  The taste of which I can easily imagine today.  I still gag when I think about it.

I remember one night, trying to stifle my cough so that I could avoid having to ingest said nastiness. And ended up … how to say this without being too graphic … being VERY sick all over my bed.

I don’t know how long the nastiness served to treat me, but I do remember that eventually, I began to get allergy shots.  Every week, on Friday, my mom would pick me up from school, we would head to the doctor for my shot, and then go to visit my Oma. If my aunt was there, that usually meant a trip to Robar’s or Dairy Queen for ice cream!

Ice cream always made me feel better!  Still does.

In May of 1983, as I prepared to graduate high school, my doctor decided I no longer needed allergy shots.  I was cured! 

Or so I wished!

My asthma is now mostly under control. I do still have mild attacks 2-3 times a year when the seasons change. My asthma is more exercise-induced now. And I have two types of inhalers to show for it.

I have long been able to eat eggs again. And thank goodness, because protein is my friend! (Three is a Magic Number).  Although … you need a vault full of gold bars in order to eat them nowadays!

And oranges! They are one of my favorite fruits!  There’s more than one reason I love Florida!

And chocolate!  What a sin it would’ve been for me to live my whole life without tasting the deliciousness that is chocolate!  Though I’m still not a fan of chocolate ice cream and can only tolerate chocolate cake.  But chocolate candy!  How do I love thee? Let me count the ways!

I’m still allergic to molds. And ragweed. And dust (and dusting). And cedar.

Cedar, which is prevalent throughout Texas.

Cedar, which, if you move to Central Texas and don’t have allergies, will ensure you develop them in four years’ time.

Cedar, which is especially bad in the Texas Hill Country, and when the wind blows, the pollen drifts

Right. Through. San Antonio.

Have you ever seen a Cedar Tree “pop”?  The mere sight of it in photograph form makes my nose itch and my bronchial tubes begin to close.

Cedar season officially runs between November and March, but peaks during December, January, and February.  THREE MONTHS of peak cedar-popping lousiness! Lovely.

It is then that you don’t question the locals so much when they cough in your presence.  You’re not worried about Covid (Don't Stand So Close to Me).  Oh No! You’re sympathizing!  Because you know.

You know the sniffling, sneezing, nighttime, stuffy head, cough … oh wait.  That’s a commercial for something else!

You sympathize because you know the feeling.

•          Itchy eyes.
•          Cough.
•          Itchy nose.
•          Cough.
•          Itchy throat.
•          Cough.
•          Raw throat.
•          Cough.
•          Congested head.
•          Cough.
•          Congested chest.
•          Cough.

All of which wears you out because you’d just like to (a) get some sleep at night and (b) breathe normally.

I’ve been suffering from Cedar Fever for the last week or so.  My agony peaking earlier this week (though I’m still getting … um … “stuff” out of my nose).

During the worst of it, Keith dug through the medicine cabinet, pulling out the Vicks and I was immediately transported back to my childhood. 

With my chest, throat, and upper lip covered in Vicks, I was simply missing my dad’s handkerchief and t-shirt.

I dosed myself with Robitussin, Mucinex D and then DM, homeopathic drops which go under your tongue – specific for Texas Cedar, and Allegra (which I take every day anyway – to stave off such issues – a lot of help that has done!). 

I did nasal rinses twice/day and my breath smelled sweet like honey-lemon, the flavor of cough drops I was popping like candy.

At night and sometimes during the day, we ran a humidifier (a meager substitute for the vaporizer).

Despite all of that … I had coughing fits that lasted all night, my head felt WAY heavier than eight pounds, my nose felt as if there were 1,000 tiny ants having a parade inside, thanks to the congestion in my head, my ears were constantly ringing and terribly sensitive to loud noises like … the hum of the ceiling fan, and my heart was constantly racing - likely due to all of the meds I was pumping in my body.

And yes, I was having trouble breathing. Especially when I tried to sleep on my back; my chest felt like it was caving in on my lungs.

And Keith took me to Dairy Queen.

With the worst of it behind me (for the love of all that is holy, PLEASE! let it be so!), I’m reminded that I’m not alone.

In researching the dates of cedar season, I found a blog post from ‘My Urgent Care Clinic’. It aptly described cedar season’s victims as those living in a “broad strip of Central Texas that stretches from the Red River (on the Texas/Oklahoma border) to the Rio Grande (on the Texas/Mexico border)”.  That sounds about right.

I also looked for images to be used in this post (because really … I’m not exactly going out to actively search cedar trees to photograph). In my search, I saw that The Gardening Channel actually did a segment on “How to Grow Cedar Trees”.  All I can think of is …

Why?

Because it’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Or not.