I remember the first time I got/caught/was struck down by the dreaded flowery disease. I was 8 years old and at Mayfield Middle School here on the Isle of Wight. The field around the school is huge, especially if you’re pumping around on legs the same size as a small dog.
There was a ditch that ran along the edge of the field, and my idiot mates and I were chasing each other, jumping up and out of the ditch or lying down in it, hoping we wouldn’t be seen by the kid stood over us looking straight at us, all of two feet away.
I waited until it was safe to run for the cover of ‘the tree’ – that hallowed safe haven of all young boys in a field – and, my finely tuned child senses telling me so, I ran for it.
I leapt from the ditch as high as my little legs would carry me… which was halfway up the bank… of the three foot high ditch… and as I set my first foot down to freedom I issued a deep manly, 8 year olds’ laugh.
Instead, something caught in the back of my throat and I started to cough. And sneeze. And sneeze. And sneeze.
I thought I was actually choking and became very scared and frightened, to such an extent that the other kids started to only kick me and pull at my clothes instead of helping me to safety.
Fortunately, one child paused between shoeings as he realised I was in trouble. With one more swift kick he ran off to fetch help… which turned out to be the dinner lady.
No, I have no idea why someone who had just served me lunch was now storming thunder-thigh-esque across the field with ground-shaking strides. If I wasn’t scared before I’d pretty much shit my pants by now.
She scooped me up in an arm that would have made a builder jealous and carried me like a sack of sugar towards the shelter of Mayfield Middle Church of England School. Obviously, we were both panicked and my Darth Vader like breathing gave us cause for concern.
She set me down in the matron’s office, which was about as big as the crapper in my flat today, and the nurse was soon pulling and poking at me; squeezing my chest and stomach. For a horrifying second I thought she was going to ask me to cough and drop. Again.
My mum was there in a flash in the way that only a panicking, distraught mother could be there, but as soon as my flustered Ma burst into the matron’s office (security was graded as ‘fuck all’ when I were at school) the nurse turned to her and said, “Don’t worry, it’s only a little hayfever.”
Looking back, I should have said; “‘Just a little hayfever’? I’m fucking dying here, woman! I want a second opinion! Get me a real doctor you fuck monkey!”
But instead, I looked up with watery eyes at my mum, who patted her chest, let out an audible ‘phew’ and then closed with ‘is that all? Thank goodness!’
As it turns out it was ‘just hayfever’, but – as anyone that suffers from it will tell you – it can be an absolute fuckfest of a thing to suffer with.
Ok, ok, there are worse things to suffer from, but currently almost ONE QUARTER of the UK’s population suffer from it, with sales of antihistamines, eye drops, and other such remedies raking in BILLIONS every year. Plus it’s also my blog so I’ll write about whatever I want!
Allergic rhinitis is an allergic inflammation of the nasal airways, so says Wiki. I can honestly say that I’ve always got a tissue in my pocket, or eyedrops stored somewhere and my sunglasses are a given, usually ALL year round as I can suffer in any bright sky, be it blue or grey.
But I’m not about to educate you on the problems of hayfever. I just wanted to tell you the story of when I first got it as I remember it as clear as a bell… strangely, I’ve no fucking idea what I had for breakfast this morning.
Plus I wanted to give people chance to comment below and leave any remedies they’ve tried and found successful so that us other sufferers can try them and see if we can end our teary-eyed pain!
And we never get the sympathy we deserve, either.
In fact, my own daughter has just started getting hayfever. But she won’t use eye drops as it fucks with her mascara.
And she wonders why I’m unsympathetic.