Hell Season

I just bought an air purifier machine.

It looks like a mini fridge and has all the plastic armour of a portable air conditioner; a clunky, boxy thing. I have no idea where to put it quite frankly. To be fair, I never planned on getting it at all. In fact, my reluctance on having this thing exist in my life is so great, I can freely admit to you that I bought it at a steal from someone on Gumtree just so that if this contraption fails, the investment wouldn’t be too painful. I am quite prepared for its failure too, honestly, since all other attempts at soothing my condition haven’t been successful at all. You see, I’m a hay fever sufferer. Possibly the worst kind and no, I’m not exaggerating.

Rye grass: the bane of my existence

It begins just as winter thaws and the first warm winds blow westwards from Mildura (West of Victoria, Australia) or wherever rye grass flourish. With the spring, the grasses blossom from the generous winter rains, throwing pollen into the air that eventually gets carried over to the rest of Victoria, courtesy of 120km per hour gales. The first of such a gale arrived on the third week of October. I still recall how confident I was that weekend of October the 22nd as I strode into town to meet a friend for an early dinner. I was prepared you see, with my daily anti-histamine dose that I had religiously taken since the beginning of September in anticipation of what I affectionately term ‘Hell Season’. We had planned to watch his partner at a choir recital just a few blocks away. As we made our way post-dinner, I felt that familiar warm air circling around us. I watched with a sliver of nervousness as fallen leaves took to the air, spinning about like resurrected carcasses of birds. By the time the first song was sung, the familiar symptoms of a hay fever attack were pulsing from beneath my sinuses: my eyes had begun to itch and water. In a Bruce Banner to Hulk moment, my nasal passage strained and throbbed. Then boom! Internal nasal floodgates opened and the first torrents of fluid began to flow. It wasn’t too long before my little back-up pack of pocket tissues ran out. I excused myself then and dashed for a public toilet where I (shamefully) stole a whole toilet roll. After a few more songs, I decided I couldn’t bear it any longer: the space between my eyes that connected my ears with my throat had just ganged up to throttle me. Before anyone can mistake my condition for a nervous breakdown, I made my apologies swiftly and dashed for the tram stop.

Wild weather since 2014

When the droughts ended from back in 2007, every year at spring time saw the same cursed condition visit us hay fever sufferers. This drought had lasted nearly a decade before and residents of Victoria were forced to observe water restriction rules. Suddenly it disappeared and in its place with each successive year, came an ever-increasing winter rainfall. I blame climate change: with the rise of CO2 and the global warming causing more Antarctic ice to dissipate into the oceans around the south of Australia comes the rainfall that ends up in the dessert. And with the same climate trauma, come the winds that like the rains, grew fiercer with each year. Some nights you can hear it howl outside our windows and it’s not too hard to imagine yourselves on the deck of some old ship rolling in a sea storm.

This year it got pretty bad.

While the rest of the world was falling apart over civil wars, collapsing economies and hiccups in democracy, my world too descended into chaos. For starters, I was using up to three 180 Telfast antihistamine tablets a day, each within three hours of each dose. Then came asthma. I began to huff and puff with the inhaler on hand at night before bedtime or first thing in the morning. And oh, the exhaustion! Getting up a few times in the middle of the night because you were awoken from your own choking. Imagine your body trying to murder you! I began to feel a little better when I saw the doctor: not so much because of the stronger meds he was to prescribe me but for the simple fact that he too was getting asthma, something he never got before. There used to be a point in time when I’d catch my Korean hairdresser sniffing away and I’d nod at him in solidarity like brothers of a suffering few. Sometimes I see strangers on the street blowing their noses and sneezing for dear life and I would give them a knowing, compassionate look as if to say: I feel your pain. Sometimes I’d blow my nose after they’d blown theirs, in a honk-for-honk acknowledgement. It’s pathetic. But like I said, this year was bad: so bad that nine people died. Like actually, seriously died.

When the news reported about how some unfortunate folks did not get evacuated in time during an ‘asthma thunderstorm’, my condition became a part of a phenomena that suddenly had nationwide attention. Overnight this yearly pollen onslaught became front page news because it had a death toll. In all those cases, people died because they were getting asthma for the first time so nobody was prepared. The others that managed to get into intensive care eventually perished. It’s sobering how anyone of those people could be me, I thought.

I was more fortunate in other things: I am a home-based freelancer so I’d be doing my work when the meds kicked in (if they kicked in). I’d rest when it got too much: “rest” is code for getting horizontal so your nasal fluids would run down your throat instead of dribbling over your chin, your computer keyboards etc. I sometimes wonder how much harder it would be if I had an eight-to-five job: from commuting to and from the office, sneezing constantly to the ire of colleagues… I shudder.

Screen grab from my weather app

This sickness is also a treacherous deception. It confuses the sufferer because one never knows if one is having an actual cold or just another hysterical bout of sneezes and coughs. How can anyone medicate effectively I ask you? These are times of sheer desperation where I seek out incantations, patron saints and gods. I shake my fists at the universe and cry out for mercy. Sometimes I just have an extra glass of whatever strong drink I’m having.

Two years ago, I sought the help of an allergy specialist. After spending a small fortune on consultations tests and an entire year of allergy sensitivity therapy (injections every fortnight!) I went out into the world supremely confident and welcomed Spring with arms open wide. I got sick again promptly afterwards so you can imagine how crushed and distraught I was. I became an Adele song on repeat.

Today’s #pollen count for #Melbourne is LOW ( 12 grass pollen grains / m3 of air ave). Forecast for tomorrow is MODERATE.

— Melbourne Pollen (@MelbournePollen) December 18, 2016

As of this post, we are less than a week from Christmas. This means that my condition has remained with me for over eight weeks. There are good days where I am tricked into believing that the season might finally be over. And there are bad days where I must resort to cancelling outings with friends at the very last minute. Every day I seek out my weather app (or the Melbourne Pollen twitter account) to advise me of the pollen level of the day just so I can decide when to shut the windows and doors tight. But now I’ve got this new air purifier! While it may not be the silver bullet, it might help in some small way. Also, Fiona from next door suggests that I give laser acupuncture a try. But you know what? If it doesn’t require human or animal sacrifices, I’ll be trying anything. I’m not in a position to choose, quite frankly.

Wish me luck.

Self portrait. Unflatteringly true.