What the workers left behind caused my sinuses to run a hundred mile marathons accompanied by a bombarment of sneezing.
I went to the VA doctor and he prescribed medications that didn’t work.
As the days passed, the sneezing went volcanic—like Mt. Saint Helena blowing its top.
One time, I sneezed so hard, I blew the 3M mask off my face—so much for a mask that’s supposed to protect you from every gas and WMD plague Islamic terrorists can brew.
Upstairs or outside, I was fine. However in my home office, I was a goner.
“Blam, blam, balm,” my nose exploded like rapid shots from a fifty-caliber submachine gun.
I could have opened windows, but it’s been raining for weeks. The sky has been overcast. The air breezy and cold.
Then the sun came out and I let the outside in and the sneezing stopped—I’m crossed my fingers and knocked on wood. I’m afraid to close the windows, but night will come and with it lower temperatures. I feared that whatever industrial poisons haunting my once tranquil office space might return.
As I update this post months later, I’m happy to report that the sneezing ended that day.
Return to Teaching or Writing with Pain, Pollution and People – Part 3 or start with Part 1
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Lloyd Lofthouse is the award-winning author of the concubine saga, My Splendid Concubine & Our Hart. When you love a Chinese woman, you marry her family and culture too.
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