Column: Spring brings more than April showers and May flowers

I knew spring had arrived when I looked down at my hands and realized they were finally free of red spots.

In February, I was sitting in a meeting room that was illuminated by those high-powered LED lights. I’d had the spots for a couple of months by then, and self-diagnosed them as chilblains. When your extremities are exposed to cold, blood vessels can burst and cause these little areas of inflammation.

Under the bright lights, my hands looked awful. They embarrassed me. I tried to keep them in my lap. Would these darn things ever go away?

I’d seen this affliction mentioned in books—as in, historical novels. I had thought chilblains had gone the way of diphtheria and typhoid. Well, they haven’t. You can find out all about them on the Internet.

I’d never had chilblains before. But we had such a terrible, long winter, I guess I’m not surprised.

Though I can’t pinpoint exactly when the spots showed up, I’m thinking it was probably around the end of December, when we had that extreme cold snap. At first, I wasn’t sure what was going on, though I figured it was winter-related. Dry indoor air? Freezing outdoor air? Snow getting into my gloves?

I began carrying around a tube of heavy-duty hand lotion, the kind that promises to solve problems, not just make your skin glisten. Though I normally wear gloves in cold weather, I realized there were times when I couldn’t, such as when I was feeding our chickens out of my hand. Hmm. Maybe I needed to cut back on that when it was frigid out.

Over time, the chilblains seemed to fade a bit, but they didn’t disappear. I also started using a lotion that was supposed to make my hands radiant. It smelled wonderful, and did improve the tone of my skin. Unfortunately, the chilblains remained.

Yes, I was consumed by the state of my hands.

Then one day, a couple of weeks ago, I was applying my magic radiance cream when I saw that my skin was clear. Hallelujah! After a month of spring-like weather, my hands had returned to normal.

Actually, they were better than normal, due to all that lotion.

There are many signs of spring in my yard. The garlic my husband, Paul, planted last fall is about a foot high now. The old pear tree is covered with white flowers. The sweet woodruff that blankets the ground along the side and back of the house also is blooming.

I love the sights and smells of spring. But this year, I am equally delighted by the disappearance of my chilblains. And my nagging cough.

I might have worried about the little cough that wouldn’t go away, except for the fact that a number of friends and colleagues were beset by the same problem. I never had a bad cold this winter. But I did have some upper respiratory issues. I was convinced that post-nasal drip was causing my cough. I was often so congested, I couldn’t even sneeze. It was a very strange sensation. I went through boxes of tissues trying to deal with the congestion.

The dry interior air didn’t help. Whenever I came in from the cold, I would start hacking. There were windy days when I could just feel that cold air heading straight for my lungs. Thankfully, it never escalated into anything major. It was just annoying. Sometimes I’d start coughing mid-sentence!

Then, as with the chilblains, I noticed I wasn’t doing it anymore. I was using far fewer tissues—a box was lasting two weeks instead of one. I was able to sneeze again. More sneezing meant less coughing…

Unfortunately, this golden age lasted only a couple of weeks. It was warm enough to open a few windows for at least part of the day. As I enjoyed the fresh air, I wasn’t thinking that it was laden with pollen.

My seasonal allergies are unusual. My eyes get itchy, my nose gets stuffy and I feel tired, but I don’t sneeze repeatedly. My nose doesn’t drip. So it sometimes takes me a while to figure out I’m under siege.

I take an allergy tablet daily but only use a nasal spray when absolutely necessary. One day I came home from work and was so tired I fell asleep in my reading chair. When I awoke, my head felt fuzzy, like I was coming down with something. I hoped not. I would rather have my allergies act up than be truly sick.

I used my spray and drank down two glasses of water. As I made dinner, I slowly started emerging from the fog. I sat down and began to eat—and started coughing. And coughing. Since I also have food allergies, my immediate thought was that I was going into anaphylactic shock. But I’d only eaten food I’d prepared, with no secret ingredients.

It was, I concluded, my hay fever. This theory was later borne out by friends who had also experienced severe allergy symptoms that evening. Why? No one knows.

I wasn’t getting a cold. I wasn’t going into anaphylactic shock. I could barely eat my dinner, but in the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t so bad. To cheer myself, I looked at my hands. No chilblains! I really had nothing to complain about.