One thing that has been very hard for me to admit is that I have allergies. I grew up with none. I believed that allergies meant that you were somehow defective as a human.
Now, I am defective as a human, but it isn’t my allergies that make me so. That’s all me, baby.
When I first “became a woman” I discovered these allergies. I went to a doctor who prescribed me creams to apply (yeah, because that’ll get rid of it) and told me it was a fungal infection.
And, since then, every doctor I’ve been to has basically told me I’m crazy.
I’m allergic to nickel. And Latex. and Kiwi Fruit – or Gooseberries for any weirdos not living in Australia.
And they’re all connected.
The best part, is that they’re all so me. They’re all just one hundred percent weird.
Let’s start with the latex allergy: that one flared up because my sensitive areas don’t like contact with it. Did you know that most pads have latex in them? I didn’t. My lady bits apparently did. It makes condom shopping extra fun! Also bandaids. Anything from the waist down, I get a welt the exact same shape and size of the bandaid, after it’s removed, from the adhesive.
The nickel: only when I eat it. Yep, you read that right. No I do not make a habit of sucking on heavy metals. Nickel is present in high quantities in almost everything I love – grains, nuts, bananas (I know, right?), avocados (God, give me strength), spinach, leafy greens, tomatoes (as an Italian, that’s just offensive), tea, soy anything, garlic (again, Italian), licorice (oh my God I love bullets), onion, baking powder (what the actual?), red wine (just hell no) and chocolate. You try avoiding those. Not possible, nor do I want to. I’ll take dermatitis over eliminating those from my diet, thank you very much.
On to the Kiwi Fruit. Only since I had my child. Yep, pregnancy, as completely messed up as it is all by itself, decided to give me the eternal gift of never being able to consume Kiwi Fruit ever again. It’s as if mother nature greeted me herself and said “Hey, congratulations on what was one of the most awful experiences of your life! The only way I could make it any better for you was to make it so that now you can be actually killed by a small, brown furry fruit. Thanks for coming, and have a great life!”
Seriously. What is that? I grew up eating those things like they were lollies. They’re on every bloody fruit platter you order. They’re in fruit salads. Hell, us Aussies put them on pavlovas like we’ll never see them again! Every time I go to my mum’s for Christmas it’s like “Hey! Merry Christmas, don’t eat the pav unless you want to die and ruin everyone’s day!”.
To get to the age of 28 and suddenly realise your mortality could be decided by a dessert is just so depressing it’s almost hilarious.
So, in true “me” style, my body hates everything I love and would like me to know that it has other plans for me, and those plans are strange.
Sorry, body. I refuse to give up most of those things. You won the Kiwi Fruit war – mainly because I refuse to be removed from Earth by a testicle fruit – but I will not play your messed up game on the rest of that stuff. And I will punish you with red wine until you get the message.