“Three out of four!” I said, sniffling.
“What?”
“Three out of four on the met office app. I guess that would mean…”
“High,” said Sammy, matter-of-factly. She was right again, and the met office forecast app had proven it.
Indeed. The pollen count is ‘high’. Three out of four. One below ‘very high’.
‘The grass and nettle pollen is on the increase, with a higher risk in good weather. Spores include Leptosphaeria after rainfall.’
I’m not too bad today. At least not with the sneezing. I’ve been taking loratadine this week, which has had the surprise effect of making me weak-chested and woozy. It’s kind of awful, but I guess it’s better than wanting to slice my own head off.
I can’t help wondering whether I get it unusually bad. Lots of other people suffer, I know. Are they just better at coping? Or are they experiencing something less irritating? I don’t like that it’s hard to tell.
“Hay fever’s rough,” I’ll sniff.
“Tell me about it,” they’ll say.
But then they carry on with normal life and I never hear them grumble, or stomp around the house like a bear with a wasp in its ear. Certainly none of them talk about decapitation! They keep working, doing family, washing up, being nice to their spouses, taking their kids to school. I just want to scream, ‘THIS IS REALLY AWFUL!’ into the pollen-soaked atmosphere.
It’s a challenge either way. And I can manage myself better, even if this happens to be a much worse condition than it is for others - which, by the way, it almost certainly isn’t. I’ve just got to stop being so grouchy about it.
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