My Purgatory Parade

“Offer it up.”  My children hear this dozens of times a day.  “Offer it up for the poor souls in Purgatory.  Work on your parade.”  Some day they will get to Heaven, and the souls they have helped will be there to thank them.  I imagine it will look like a parade of people, a mad Mardi Gras parade with horns, umbrellas, and dancing.  I tease the children that they will be holding signs saying “Thanks for eating the broccoli” or “No whining with the stomach flu.  You rock!”  It may not be that way in the Catechism, but that’s how it is in my mind.

I did some serious work today.  I went in for allergy testing.  110 mini-shots to see if we can figure out the mouth swelling and constant cough.  I am covered in writing and marks from shoulder to wrist on both arms.  I offered it up for my Lenten intentions (My prayer buddy lucked out today), and the poor souls in Purgatory,  just the way my grandmother taught me.

We still know nothing.  I have some sort of super-immune system. (I’m not making this up, the doctor told me.)  I would start to produce a welt, and then it would disappear.  Nothing lasted long enough to be counted.  My super immunity just shrugged its shoulders at each spot and then wiped out the irritant.  I can produce some anti-histamine.  Something I excel at, at last.  Writing and anti-histamine production.  There are worse talents to have.

The nice doctor refuses to quit searching for a cause.  He ordered a blood allergy test because my immune system can’t defeat that test.  If it were any other time of the year I’d be asking why we didn’t start there, but it’s Lent so I’m just offering it up and working on my parade.