The past three days have taught me several things:
1. My body really hates Georgia and it’s incredible, unfathomable number of biting insects.
2. I react rather violently to one of those unnamed creatures.
3. I simply cannot function like a human being while on medication.
On Sunday morning, I was bit or stung by some mystery insect and my body has spent the past 48 hours showing me just how angry it is about the incident.
I’m used to dealing with a kid whose body releases histamines the moment something is off kilter. The girl can hive and swell with the best of them. But when it happens to me? I freak out.
It’s a bit concerning not knowing exactly what is causing the reaction. Georgia is known to have some gnarly spiders, ants and flies. But Josh sees reactions like this “all the time” and assured me “this was nothing” and it would “be completely gone by morning.”
LADIES. Never believe your husband. Especially when he follows these statements with “calm down.”
MEN. Never tell a woman to calm down. Especially when her foot resembles that of Fred Flintstone and her toes resemble mini sausages.
As that sweet husband of mine so bluntly told me, “Even your body overreacts.”
Were we looking at the same thing?!
When I could no longer bend my toes despite around-the-clock doses of Benadryl, even Josh admitted it was time to call the doc.
I left my house wearing these:
I don’t know why people didn’t take my plight more seriously if I willingly left my home wearing one sandal and one house slipper. Don’t cross a woman crazy enough to wear just one house slipper in public. Despite the office staff’s less than prompt attention to my condition, I left armed with a hefty dose of steroids and some antibiotics for an inevitable infection.
I don’t know about you, but Benadryl makes me feel freaking weird. The swelling paired with the drug-induced dizziness and pounding heart made me certain I was headed for certain death. Throw in a hefty dose of steroids and I’m a raging lunatic with a bad sense of balance.
Twenty-four hours later, we’re still rockin’ a club foot. Courtesy of the swelling and lack of appropriate foot wear, this is how we’re biding our time until my toes decide to resume normal size and the cankle disappears.
A Netflix marathon, a bag of ice and with all the snacks the wee ones can scrounge up on their own. And taking more pictures of my feet because obviously I haven’t documented this enough.
Georgia, I’m very sorry for whatever I did that has made you so angry. Please call off your legions of flesh eating bugs. I promise to only blog wonderful things about your mild winters and sunshiny beaches.
A strung-out, swollen, lunatic Momma of two needy children.