Oh, Dating with Food Allergies…

If I wasn’t half asleep I’d probably expand on this post a little more, but Howaboutwe’s Marla Pachter has it pretty much covered. Love her sense of humor about how awkward it can be to go on dates with a ton of food allergies. Read her article here. It’s hilarious.

Just a few comments, and excuse the potential lack of cohesiveness to this post — I do need to catch up on sleep now that I AM ON MY LAST FEW HOURS OF PREDNISONE after a whirlwind of 12 emotional, insomnia-filled days…

1. You’re not supposed to mention things like weird illnesses or awkward dealbreakers on a first, or even second date. It’s like, everyone has their thing, but you don’t need to broadcast yours to the world like it’s a bright red flag. So if my thing is food allergies, how do I not do that on a first date that’s dinner related? Yes, we can go to drinks or minigolf or the beach but if some guy says “Hey Cindy, I want to take you to dinner” and I say “Howaboutwe go minigolfing instead?” I’m sure he’ll say why, and then it’s like, do I lie? Do I say, “I just prefer minigolfing” and come off all weird and high maintenance? If it goes somewhere, he’ll find out that dinner’s hard, so there’s no use pretending it’s not. I guess I just have to be the girl guys don’t want to take to dinner. I have to give off a minigolfing vibe. Maybe invest in some polo shirts and golf cleats.

2. I have totally suggested a guy order food I was allergic to while on a date so that he would fail when he tried to kiss me. True story. I was all, “yeah, you should order that mushroom pasta, mmmm it sounds so good”  when he was debating between that and the dish I was having and then later I was like, “oh no! so sorry, you had mushrooms, let’s just wave goodbye…” Sometimes, you know at the start of the date where it’s going, and I saw it was going nowhere, and got myself out of what could have otherwise been an awkward head-tilt that’s only good for my amazing masseuse May. So, there’s a plus side to dating with allergies.

And now, for my long awaited sleep…

Seven Days of Prednisone

Today marks a week since my anaphylactic episode. I’ve been on round the clock benedryl and prednisone for 7 days, and I have to keep doing that until Tuesday. Luckily, I’m getting used to the weird side effects. Like, random muscle pain that makes me scream “MY LEGS!” or uncontrollable swinging of my limbs (thank you to my friends and coworkers who are kind of enough to grab hold of said swinging limbs and steady them). Or, you know, crying over things like dropping a paper towel roll, getting stuck in traffic, reading a long email, or having to carry grocery bags out of my car. And totally forgetting where I am and what I’m doing – especially when driving and thinking “Hey, I wonder why all the cars on the other side stopped moving. Wait. Where am I? I AM IN A CAR! THE LIGHT IS RED! I HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE INTERSECTION!”

Why do I forget that I can’t drive on prednisone? Maybe because prednisone makes me forget things.

I have utterly no clue how to sleep anymore. My body wants to, it’s all like “oh, sleep sounds cool” but then it just won’t. Or I sleep and I wake up like an hour later thinking the whole world is different, forget where I am, why I’d been sleeping, and how to fall back asleep.

All that said, I think I’m pretty high functioning for the amount of medicine in me. I wrote a bunch of a script, I cooked an entire shabbat meal, I went to Disneyland (though I had to get off Tower of Terror, because my throat started swelling as I buckled in, and I thought that if god forbid I needed an epipen while on Tower of Terror, it might be the most dangerous thing ever. Or, as my friend S put it “your epipen would fly in the air, land on some random Disney person and they’d get sick and you’d die on the ride.” For the record, I once rode Tower of Terror 9 times in a row and orchestrated a timed photo for the car, so no, rude Disneyland patrons, I did not have a panic attack. I was not scared of the ride. I was scared of anaphylaxis on a ride).

I bought a stuffed fox to feel better. I named him anaFOXlaxis because I’m supremely clever. I don’t know why a stuffed animal fixes things, but this fox totally does. S was nice enough to drive way out of our way to go to a hallmark store to get one (fyi: target sells bad stuffed animals). And, the fox is made by some company that specializes in stuffed animals that come with books to help people cope with hard things. Good job, fox. I think everyone should get a happiness fox. It’s like a seeing eye dog but you don’t have to take care of it.

Anyway, this post is probably very incoherent. But, my hope is that if you’re googling “why are my limbs swinging prednisone” you’ll find this post and be like, “Oh, I’m not alone, I shouldn’t drive, and I should buy a stuffed fox.”

Is it Tuesday yet?

AnaFOXlaxis, aka Foxy Brown