Receiving monthly allergy shots

If I had to gaze into a crystal ball and tell you which of the four seasons you could find me with a full-blown upper respiratory infection back in the day, I would’ve been “Johnny on the spot” with the answer — spring and fall.

No, I wasn’t a fortune teller.

I was, however, a chronic sufferer from seasonal allergies.

When this mild-mannered seventh-grader started with all the usual symptoms — nighttime sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head and fever — he knew what time of year it was without even looking at a calendar.

As an adolescent preteen, I could’ve been a walking billboard for Vicks NyQuil; and a pretty darn cute one at that, if I do say so myself.

I popped antihistamine tablets like candy, and it wasn’t even Halloween.

So, it came as no surprise to me when a team of doctors — who pricked my back with a series of little needles —at UPMC Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania told me I was allergic to dust mites, mold and pollen.

Well, isn’t that special?

Not only was I afflicted with a mild case of cerebral palsy, but I also had an added bonus to deal with on top of my already complicated life.

Did you hear my exasperated sigh?

Following the comprehensive diagnosis from the medical professionals assigned to my particular case, I was then required to begin receiving monthly allergy shots from my primary care physician, which would carry me through the next six years until high school graduation.

Since my reoccurring doctor’s appointment was always scheduled at the conclusion of the school day, I was giddy with glee to escape riding the special education mini school bus at least one day out of every month.

I can still remember that Cheshire Cat grin splashed across my face the first Friday of each month when the dismissal bell rang out at Lincoln Junior-Senior High School, because it signaled a much-needed reprieve from the mundane trip home aboard the special needs vehicle with a small group of youngsters from Hartman Elementary School — after all, I was in junior high now.

My gleeful detractors would’ve had a field day had they discovered that “juicy tidbit” of information.

Shortly after saying farewell to my boon companions at our storage lockers in the congested hallway located in the underbelly of the aforementioned educational institution, I sauntered up the outside ramp behind the main building and walked through the nearly deserted hallways before exiting through the door next to the high school auditorium, which brought me out to Crescent Avenue.

What became known as the “monthly trek to the local doctor’s office” could’ve most definitely been navigated in my sleep; so, it’s a wonder my Nike high-top footprints weren’t imprinted into the sidewalk between the gargantuan red-brick building and Dr. Ricardo Raymundo’s medical practice around the corner on Eighth Street.

It wasn’t unusual for the amiable Filipino doctor to step into the exam room once the dedicated nurse administered the monthly injection to check up on me and answer any perplexing questions I might have about the routine procedure, especially after the first of many visits to come.

How’s my favorite patient today?

I’ll bet you say that to all your patients.

“That greeting is expressly reserved for those special clients receiving their very first allergy shot,” responded the private practitioner with a cheerful demeanor as he briefly scanned over the notes from that day’s visit. “Since this is your first visit to my practice, I wanted to cordially welcome you to Dr. Raymundo and Associates, and to see if you had any questions about your monthly allergy shots.”

“This may or may not have anything to do with my allergy shots,” I reasoned with hands fully extended prior to sharing my uneasiness with the medical professional. “However, I’ve been dealing with a stuffed-up nose almost every single day when I get out of bed in the morning; but it seems to dissipate by the time I make it to the kitchen for breakfast.”

Do you think this is something to be concerned about?

After expeditiously flipping through my somewhat thick medical chart in his possession, the family doctor inquired if there were any unusual factors which may be causing these symptoms other than the typical seasonal allergies.

A light bulb switched on in my head.

When our Pomeranian shed his entire fur coat on my big brother’s bedspread the other night, I must’ve had some kind of allergic reaction, because I had a scratchy throat and couldn’t stop sneezing for the longest time.

Eureka!

According to your records, you’re also allergic to pet dander.

Say what?

John’s going to have a conniption fit!

Directly after receiving my subcutaneous immunotherapy, I was required to sit in the waiting room for a 20-minute period to ensure there weren’t any abnormalities at the injection site.

While perusing through the most recent issue of Newsweek — a publication containing articles about business, culture and politics — with a Jimmy Carter caricature on the cover, my mind was reeling over the revelation of the allergy to pet dander and how I was going to approach the delicate subject with my lifelong roommate.

I had recently suggested George — our family pet — sleep in the basement.

More than likely, the freckle-faced athlete would rather see me spend my nights in the bowels of the church parsonage.

Chalk it up to perfect timing!

My mother ambled through the main entrance of the doctor’s office to pick me up just as I strolled over to the front desk to have the injection site on my shoulder checked out by the lovely nurse.

Before heading out to the family station wagon, the would-be Clara Barton made sure to clarify my complete list of allergies — dust mites, mold, pollen, as well as pet dander — with the minister’s wife for full transparency.

Upon strapping on our seatbelts, I looked over at the dark-haired brunette with puppy dog eyes.

“There’s no need for you to worry,” assured Mom, wiping my tear-stained cheek with her thumb while explaining the situation plainly. “Since your health and well-being is of vital importance, your brother will be more understanding than you may realize; and Curious George will be totally fine to spend his nights in the cellar.”

At least there was a pullout sofa bed in the basement, just in case things didn’t pan out.