Benadryl brain

I have “Benadryl brain” this morning.

Last midnight, allergies had me sneezing and snorting (and not sleeping).

I got up to look for relief and all I could find in the house was Benadryl.

I took it. I knew that it would put me to sleep and stop the allergy symptoms.

I also knew that the drug’s effects would wear off in the night and that I would awake sneezing and snorting again. But at midnight, I decided to get some sleep and deal with morning in the morning.

It’s morning. My allergies were up with the sun.

The effects of the Benadryl wore off, but the side effects wear on.

When I was a kid in the 1980s, my dad had an old Pontiac that gave us more reasons to pray than almost anything else in our lives. In the cold northern Ohio weather, depending on that old Pontiac to get us to school in the morning was like playing “tardy bell Russian roulette.”

On February mornings, questions hung over the breakfast table: Would the car start today? How long would it take to start? How much effort would it take to start the car and keep it running?

I could hear Dad cranking and cranking and cranking out in the driveway as Mom rushed to bundle us up and hand us our backpacks at the door.

Getting the car to start did not guarantee that it would stay started. It coughed and sputtered the entire one-mile drive to the school. Dad rolled through intersections because that old Pontiac was more likely to die from a complete stop than its passengers were from running a stop sign.

That old car is my brain on Benadryl and five hours of sleep.

One of the things that I learned by living into my mid-40s is that even if the car barely runs and is not fun to drive, the kids still need to get to school. Riding in a clunker is still better than walking when the air is 10 degrees and the sidewalk is under ten inches of snow.

Sometimes, a man has to make do with a Benadryl brain because it’s the only one he has to get him through the work of the day.

So, I thank God that I am alert and awake enough to be up and moving around. I will drink another cup of coffee and coax my Benadryl brain along like my dad coaxed that old Pontiac. I’ll sputter, but at least I’ll get something done for the people who rely on me.

A Benadryl brain is still a brain, after all. I’m thankful to have it and thankful to still get some use out of it for the people I love.

Grace and peace.