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It seems I'm allergic to my house. I had a feeling I was, and now my worst fears are confirmed. I'm allergic to dogs, cats, dust, mold and dust mites.

Ick. Dust mites? You don't take that one seriously until the doctor shows you a photo of a mite enlarged 100 percent. I'm surprised their office doesn't have more people fainting.

Suffering from vertigo, clogged ear (try to imagine what it would feel like to have a very full water balloon stuffed into your ear), sniffles and watering eyes, I finally went to a specialist. Apparently, like an addict, I need to hit bottom before I take action.

I was asked to lie on a table face down, and then the nice lady put dozens of pin pricks in my back. She asked me to lie still for 15 minutes. Huh? Do nothing but itch for 15 minutes? Heaven. What woman with all my responsibilities is asked to just lie down and do nothing for 15 minutes?

So, it turns out my bedroom needs to be a "sanctuary" - free of all animals. (Technically, a dust mite is not an animal, but …)

When the doctor used the word "sanctuary," my itchy eyes became big and round and hopeful. I've always wanted my room to be a sanctuary, but my cat, Pandy, can open my door. She has a secret little kitty tool kit. Combine that with advanced "rocking the door till it pops open" skills, and she's in.

Once in, she pads her way to my glorious bed, leaps up and gives me "the look." She smirks and her thought bubble says: yeah, I'm on the big bed. That's right. OUR bed. And you are too lazy to get up and move me. I know you. Then she curls up and telepathically sends her dander up my nose.

But no more. She's banished to the guest room. Poor kitty.

I went to Target and bought every piece of dust mite bed covering. I cleaned the house like Heloise was coming for tea, picked up new allergy medicine and claimed my room back. Next I'll have to remodel several rooms, you know, in case there could be mold. Probably all new, beautifully upholstered furniture wouldn't hurt.

It's unfortunate that I won't be able to clean the garage or the storage room anymore. Or enter antique stores (which I despise). But what's a gal with allergies supposed to do? I teach life balance and wellness. I can't possibly go against doctor's orders! I really should spend as much time in my "sanctuary" as possible. With a good book, perhaps. To heal.

Next week I go back to the allergist for a check up. What are the chances they will ask me to lie down for 15 minutes again? I am desperately anticipating they will tell me that my only hope for a healthy season will be to buy a new Audi with surround sound and hypoallergenic upholstery - and ban all animals from it.

So, you know where this is going. I intend to milk this for all it's worth. (Unless I'm allergic to milk). After all, I've lived with a water balloon in my ear and itchy eyes and a runny nose … and vertigo. Vertigo worse than Jodie Foster suffered in the movie "Contact" after she had to uncontrollably vibrate during take-off.

It's time to take control. And a Claritin.

- Molly Cox

Molly Cox is a speaker, co-author of the book, Improvise This! How to Think on Your Feet so You Don't Fall on Your Face and producer of the award-winning film, "Note to Self," about self-care for caregivers. She was the co-writer for the Mr. Rogers Lifetime Achievement Awards and writes the humor column for the National Speakers Association Minnesota monthly newsletter.