STI: Stingually Transmitted Infection.
So I created a purely sensationalized title. Big whoop.
Friday morning. Birthday morning. The big 29 (the “real one” as my shrink said). I’m all stoked to get some free birthday treats from Caribou and Panera (Iced Pomegranate Vanilla Oolong Latte and Pumpkin Muffin, respectively) when I sat down in the driver’s seat of my truck and felt something pokey. I reached under my behind to clear away what I thought would be a little rock or something when the something grabbed onto my finger. I freaked out, shook my hand, and watched a yellowjacket fling into the little pocket in my door (thankfully open).
Sat there for a minute and freaked out silently. The last time I was stung was probably 25 years ago, and I knew I wasn’t allergic then, but people suddenly develop allergies all the time. After a few minutes I determined I probably wasn’t going to have trouble breathing any time soon, and that I certainly wasn’t interested in driving or being around people just yet. The pokey was quickly turning stingy, and I had some googling to do. I waddled very slowly back into my house
After sitting on a block of ice for two episodes of Dance Academy (Thanks a ton, Maven) I decided I was ready to venture out into the world. I went outside, realized I forgot… something… and went back in. Bent over and heard buzzing in my ear and watched as yet another yellowjacket fell out of my hair and onto the floor. As it wandered around (and thankfully didn’t fly), I grabbed a can of hotshot and stopped it in its tracks. And then took a picture of it, because that’s what people do. I was clearly under attack and evidence would probably come in handy.
Finally made it out into the world. Got my free stuff. Went out to dinner later. Procured a SodaStream for my birthday present. Played with said SodaStream. Admired that the bee sting which had originally been a 2″ pink blob had turned into a 1″ pink blob over the course of the day. Went to bed feeling like it was the end of my worries.
Until I woke up the next morning. The 1″ pink blob and turned giant and red and angry. And itchy. So very itchy. And then it didn’t go away. And it didn’t go away. And I refused to see a doctor because why on earth would I want to show a doctor my ass unless I absolutely had to? Well, by today I decided I had to. And it was as stupid as I imagined it being.
What I wanted was for the Urgent Care doctor to say, “Oh, bee stings on the bum are far more common than people think.” What I got was, “Haha! What an unusual location for a bee sting!” “Are you sure it was a bee sting?” “Are you sure it was only one bee sting?” To which I wanted to reply “No REALLY? You think maybe that’s why I waited three days to see a doctor??” “Yeah, I held the asshole in my hand for a second. Definitely bee.” “Yes, there was only one bee, and the one bee was pinned under my giant ass and not really able to move until I picked him up.” But what I really said was “*lame fake laugh* I know, right?” “Yes.” “Yes.”
Then he explained that there are two common reactions to bee stings: The allergic reaction everyone fears and infection. And I was stuck with the infection. And a prescription for super antibiotics. And another prescription to prevent the damage that antibiotics so frequently cause. Because that’s actually less fun than a bee sting to the ass. Just sayin’.
Eventually I’ll share all sorts of other not as sucky stuff that I did on my summer vacations–stuff that’s kept me a little busier than I expected–but I feel assured that this little tale will keep you satisfied until then.