Nothing to Sneeze At

Oh, sure, there’s enough particulate matter in the New York City air to turn a white shirt gray by the end of the workday. And a couple whiffs of a narrow West Side cross street tightly enclosed by high-rises on a hot summer day when the trash is overdue for pickup could put even the strongest stomach to the test.

Nevertheless, blessed be the New York air: When I moved there after college, my longtime seasonal allergies were gone within a month. At the time, I thought I had at last outgrown them—a breakthrough for someone who’d been taking allergy pills since he was a, well, snot-nosed kid. 

Only when I moved to Washington a few years later and the runny nose, watery eyes, dry cough, and headache returned did the truth become clear. I get it, thought I. It’s not that I outgrew my allergies. It’s that Manhattan doesn’t have plants. 

I suppose I could have worked myself into at least a low-grade wheeze if I’d spent more time in Central Park. But the last thing I had moved to New York to do was go to Central Park. I had no use for a green island of tranquility. I was trying to escape tranquility.

There’s no avoiding the greenery in Washington. The nation’s capital is a garden city, and the winds diffuse the pollen through even the most citified neighborhoods. So it was back to the allergy pills. 

Eventually, my medication of choice went over-the-counter, news of which I welcomed joyfully—until I realized that it was actually going to cost me more, since my health insurance would no longer be paying for any of it. At least there was the convenience of not having to go through the pharmacist.

What a success the over-the-counter move was. More allergy sufferers had more access to more relief than ever before. The product was moving off the shelves so fast it seemed the manufacturers could barely keep pace with demand. I was hardly alone in seeking and finding relief.