I'm fine, really.

Saturday morning I woke up to find about 75% of my body covered in hives. Itchy, angry hives. I've been tossing back the Benadryl like Skittles, but it barely takes the edge off the itch. By the time I saw the doctor this morning, I'd carved so many scratches into my flesh that I was very, very pretty. Pretty damn irritable.

My doctor looked me over, assured me it wasn't shingles (whew) and we discussed other possibilities like allergies. No, diet hasn't changed. Haven't been getting in anything resembling poison oak. No change in vitamins, skin care products, makeup, etc.

Then she asked what was going on in my life. I told her about dad (while scratching my arm) and the move to Utah (while scratching my stomach) and how UNBELIEVABLY STUBBORN AND UNREASONABLE he is (while scratching my thigh) and how the move was kind of the final goodbye to my mom even though she died an 1 1/2 ago (back to the other arm) because it was HER house. She'd picked out the rose carpeting, the pink Formica, and the burgundy-accented linoleum. She'd covered the piano bench in pink chintz and made valances out of the same fabric for all the windows. (In her defense I have this to say: Wait until your mother gets a new house when she's seventy-one years old and see what colors she picks out.) It was like a grown-up Barbie Dream House (scratching my neck) and seeing it completely empty and ready to be moved away was a surprise attack on my composure.

My doctor took notes, then told me to take some more Benadryl and give it another two weeks. (Long pause. The room is quiet except for the scratching sound of my fingernails on tender flesh.)

WHAT?!? I'm going INSANE here! You can't be serious! I have two jobs! I have commitments! Things to do! We have yet to begin cleanup on the tons of rotten lumber, rusted rebar, broken wood chippers, old bicycles, and other junk my dad was forced (yes, forced) to leave behind. We've got the house addition to begin in earnest and I have big plans for my business that need developing. I don't have time for this crap! There's a whole new side of life to enjoy now that my parents are no longer neighbors! Options, woman! I need more options! FIX ME!

"Michelle, I wish you felt more comfortable expressing how you feel. I'm always unsure of where it is you're coming from." She is staring at me with one eyebrow raised. Dammit! I hate how well she knows me.

She proceeds to tell me how, after graduating from medical school, her body did the very same thing--completely turned on her and broke out in one big rash. What we should both be grateful for, she says, is that our bodies were kind enough to wait until we got through our crisis' to cut loose. My body is pissed off and no longer willing to cooperate and I am a boiling cauldron of conflicting emotion. For the most part, my mom and dad are lost to me and I am a forty-three year old orphan. All of the benefits and drawbacks of this fact have left me overcome and defenseless. Only time will heal me. Time, and Benadryl.

I head off to Rite-Aid, trying not to scratch.