This spring, the allergist’s office is the new WeWork

I am currently going through a difficult time, that is, springtime. Spring has long been, to me, the most wretched of all seasons, and a time when I find myself longing for winter, when every plant that could tickle my nose is hibernating or preferably, dead.

My eyeballs water, I cough through the night, I have to sleep at a weird, elevated angle so that my snot doesn’t choke me in my sleep, and my very presence in public elicits endless “bless yous.” If you hear me sneeze, please stop blessing me. I get it, you mean well — just stop it.

Not to mention, 2025 might be the “worst allergy season on record.”

A few years ago, fed up with swapping over-the-counter allergy meds every other week — the same way people switch up shampoo “so you don’t get used to one formula and it stops working!” — I decided to find an allergist.

Allergy immunotherapy works via desensitization to allergens. That meant I would have to go to my allergist’s office once a week (or once a month depending on what dosage or cycle I was on), and get shots at the back of each arm, that are filled with serums derived from stuff I am allergic to.

Also depending on dosage and cycle, I’d have to stay at the allergist’s office under medical supervision for anywhere between an eternity (OK, fine, five hours) to 15 minutes.

Because seasonal allergies are fairly common, my allergist’s office is usually packed, especially in the spring. You’ll see most seats occupied with other professionals, glued to their laptops, waiting for their post-shot supervision periods to be up. The upholstered couches are all comfortable — and notably not fuzzy, presumably to avoid trapping dust mites (which, for the record, I’m also allergic to). There are stacks of magazines to flip through between Zoom meetings. Amenities are limited, but the Wi-Fi is fast and the tissues are free.

Looking around the waiting room, I see other remote workers, bound together by a feeling of superiority — we are all taking springtime into our own hands, guarding our bodies against those insidious flowers raining yellow dust upon our eyeballs and nostrils, and matching swollen triceps (I have tried to convince people that my enlarged arms were from working out, not reactions to my shots).

Everyone is respectful. Earbuds in. Zoom voices low. Stone-faced and hunched over, we nestle into the couches, shielded from the great outdoors. Maybe one day, my allergies will permit me to work remotely from an outdoor cafe, but this spring is not that spring.

It’s easy to forget where you are, in this space of air-conditioned calm, with its stylish-for-a-doctor’s office decor, like tasteful botanical prints (but no real flowers).

It’s so comfortable that I have been lulled into convincing myself that I can bring my Chihuahua to the allergist as I wait out the effects of my shots, until I remember that she is in fact, also an allergen.