The allergist hates benadryl.

Man does benadryl knock me for a loop. I got it yesterday pre-treatment and I was slurring my words. It's still not as much fun as a couple glasses of wine. Why can't they put that in my IV?

On Thursday I saw one of my allergy patients who also has a terrible medical condition that wracks her with pain daily. We compared a few notes on how people react to our illness. Here are a few of our favorites.

A total stranger says, "gosh, you handle it so well!" Why, because I can tell you I have cancer without sobbing? You expect me to be out on disability at home getting drunk?

A nice little old lady in my own synagogue once told me, "oh ovarian cancer? My mother died of that." I should have kept my mouth shut but instead I asked her, "now why do you think I needed to know that?"

Here's a personal favorite, "god doesn't give you any more than you can handle." You mean if I was a weaker person this wouldn't have happened to me? That comes from Harold Kushner's When bad things happen to good people. Good one Hal.

And now for something completely different. Here's the story of Grandma and the Can of Tuna, or The Funniest Day of My Entire Life.

Grandma Friedman was a miserable person. No exageration there, she really was. Some of it she came by honestly I suppose. The woman was divorced when my father was a boy, a time when that was just a little bit frowned on. She never remarried and pretty much raised her two children on her own as a nurse.

Nothing ever seemed to make her happy. Certainly not my father's marriage to my mother. I never in my entire life saw those two women together except for one occasion. She lived in series of shabby apartments throughout her life. She would never put a picture up on any wall because she never planned on "staying in this dump" for very long. And she didn't.

She had no friends that I knew of who she socialized with. I don't know what she did with her days except for the odd trip to the doctor's or the grocery store. She did have a friend or two from nursing school and a few relatives that she corresponded with but no one came to visit but us. She did love us though and thoroughly delighted in seeing her grandchildren. When I went to Haverford College outside of Philly I would take the train over to her apartment in Upper Darby to see her occasionally. All her apartments smelled the same. A combination of boiled vegetables and Yardley's English Lavender. It actually wasn't too bad. She always greeted me the same way, "Hello my Bethy!"

Then she would proceed to feed me. As you know that is required of grandmothers. Some people are lucky enough to have grandmothers who cook from the Old Country, recipes from their grandmothers. Mine cooked from Prevention Magazine. She would take a piece of chicken breast and poach it until it resembled shoe leather. She'd do the same to canned green beans. Luckily I will eat anything including the canned fruit salad for desert (the best part actually). That made her the happiest woman on the planet. "Doesn't everything taste so good?" she'd exclaim. I'd have done anything for a shaker of salt but who was I to argue, it made her happy.

Eventually she began to need more assistance. After a stint with my aunt it was our turn and Grandma moved up north to New Hampshire where she bounced around another series of apartments. My brother, sister and I still visited and took her grocery shopping every now and then. It was a singularly painful experience because for some inexplicable reason my grandmother could not walk and talk at the same time. She'd shuffle along with her cart and collection of coupons. Then she'd stop dead in her tracks to say something. Usually to complain about the prices or the quality of the produce. She would slowly bend down to pick up a couple cans of tuna, slowly raise one to her ear and shake it to see if it had to much water in it. It did absolutely no good to tell her they were all the same. It took forever to get down an aisle. Only my sister had the nerve to say "let's go grandma!"

Grandma developed more dementia over time. She became even more paranoid than usual and actually called the police about money that had gone missing which she was sure a neighbor or landlord had stolen. She burst pipes in her apartment by turning off the heat to save money. Finally it was time for the nursing home.

Grandma didn't like that place much but why would it have been different than any other place? Her mental status declined rapidly as she had one micro stroke after another. She still recognized me but didn't say much any more. The day I went to visit her and saw her hair in a braid down her back instead of in it's usual bun was the day I knew she had already left. She would never have allowed her hair to be done in such a manner when she was younger.

Her body lingered on though. She went through one pneumonia after another. Although my grandmother had been placed on comfort measures only she had a pansy of a primary care physician who kept making the argument that antibiotics counted as comfort measures. When faced with the possible demise of a relative it's hard to argue; doctors, including my father are not immune to this.

Finally she passed away. After my mother called to tell me I shed a few tears of sorrow and relief. Her wish had been to be cremated. There was no wake, no funeral. The funeral director asked if we would like to go out to the cemetary to have her ashes buried. My brother was home and I was home also, in medical school at the time. My father was traveling that day and met us later so my mother came out with us. We met Mr. Campion and walked to the plot. I cried a little. We stood there for a moment. Then Mr. Campion handed the urn to my brother and asked if he wanted to say anything. This took Ted by surprise and he just looked down at the urn held awkwardly in his hands for a moment. Then slowly he raised it up to his ear and shook it.

Peels of inappropriate laughter rang off the headstones. Now tears of laughter ran down my cheeks. Even my mother was laughing. Poor Mr. Campion. I think that was a first for him.

Dr. Bif