Our tale begins as many stories do. A working girl (nope not that kind) was diligently toiling during the day in a down economy, while lovingly crafting her book at night. Cobbling together thoughts and words that would drive Hemingway to drink (because what didn’t?) and Austen to wish Mr. Darcy would put her out of her misery (the original Carrie Bradshaw).
This fine lass was bothered by incessant itching. Nightly she’d claw at her skin and beg for relief; morning time she would rise to greet the day with bits of blood and skin under her nails. Lotion brought no comfort, nor Benadryl. One morning at work when the itching was too much, she called for help from her primary care physician. After detailing her woes, the nurse practitioner saw fit to check for liver damage brought on by our heroine’s blood pressure medication. This was for naught though it was a small blessing to know organs were not being damaged. Our damsel asked said NP for guidance and was gently rebuffed, the NP literally shrugging off the pleas for assistance.
Enter the trusty sidekick, a young woman with a burgeoning entrepreneurial spirit named Jennifer. This woman gifted our protagonista (just made that word up) with information that proved to be invaluable: the name of her dermatologist. After procuring an appointment our leading lady faced a series of grueling challenges (think Lord of the Rings) that included blood, urine and egad, stool samples. Weeping into her new pillow at night she’d cry out, WTF is wrong with me?!
After relegating her bed linens to the trash, facing down potential dust mites, enduring cool showers and numerous applications of much lotion, this oracle, gave our tired, now poor, claw-ravaged woman words of comfort, saying, “I can’t find anything. See an allergist.” Augh! More tests, more waiting and now in a drug-induced stupor, our leading lady was beginning to lose hope. But fear not, for our tale is about to take a most fortuitous turn.
At the urging of her mother, a wise woman with much experience in allergies, told her daughter of a man with vast knowledge could help. But who was this person? “A name, I must have his name!” It was then that our protagonista (seriously I should call Webster’s) began the last leg of her epic journey, to the enchanted AZ Asthma & Allergy.
Weary and losing hope, this leading lady made her way to this magic man. He finally gave her the prognosis she’s been searching for: non-specific itching! And do you know what happened after that? The itching stopped, the spell had been broken and she lived happily ever after.
Today’s lie: this journey wasn’t at all frustrating or expensive.
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