Allergic to myself

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 23:59:00 +0000

I used to roll my eyes at people who became obsessed with food allergies. It seemed like their entire lives revolved around finding substitutes for one food item or another, or as though all the world's ills could be blamed on gluten or egg whites or shellfish.

Then I discovered I was allergic to myself.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact day the symptoms appeared. Throughout the spring, the bottoms of my feet felt stiff in the morning. By summer, my shoes didn’t fit properly. My feet had grown wider by one size. My toes were swollen.

Was it the humidity? The summer had been particularly stifling.

My movement became gradually more painful and impaired. I felt like the tin man, hobbling around the house for most of the morning. On stairwells, I clung to the handrail and inched down the steps one foot at a time like a toddler.

One of my friends thought it a case of improper footwear. She saw a segment on the evening news about how bad flip flops were for your feet. So I traded my colorful wedges and ballet flats for Swedish clogs and running sneakers and Easy Spirit sandals. I felt like a tourist walking around Manhattan in such practical shoes. But my feet still hurt. And it was only getting worse.

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Allergic to myself