I know most of us have said that about our spouses at one time or another in our lives, but today was my day.
Let me start with a little back story, Mr. Darcey has waged an ongoing battle with digger wasps in our front yard for months. They do not like the vibration of the lawn mower and yet he feels an ongoing urge for the rumble. Ergo, let the battle begin.
Last week, he and I were just getting over the dreaded grandkid gom-booee, which is whatever the two darlings have picked up by lapping up the virus of the month from the bacterial regions of the earth. And Mr. Darcey had just been given a steroid shot to curtail the left-over racking cough. So he could go out and mow!
Let me start with a little back story, Mr. Darcey has waged an ongoing battle with digger wasps in our front yard for months. They do not like the vibration of the lawn mower and yet he feels an ongoing urge for the rumble. Ergo, let the battle begin.
In the past he’s been stung on his ankle tendon and it truly does debilitate a man, even one who seems invulnerable like unto Achilles. I don’t worry too much because the effects haven't moved beyond extreme pain and localized swelling--of the entire affected extremity.
Last week, he and I were just getting over the dreaded grandkid gom-booee, which is whatever the two darlings have picked up by lapping up the virus of the month from the bacterial regions of the earth. And Mr. Darcey had just been given a steroid shot to curtail the left-over racking cough. So he could go out and mow!
This time he got bit/stung atop his right hand. There was an identical response, pain and swelling, but this time Dr. Me was in the vicinity! So I doped him up with a couple of Benadryl and a good experimental rub of whatever essential oil was the stink-de-jour. His body’s response was typical, four or five days of swelling resulting in an arm that from wrist to elbow resembled a spinach-loaded Popeye’s. Remember, this response happened was while he was still on steroids. Sheesh.
Jump ahead. This morning, again while mowing, he comes racing in the house swatting wasps and when the panic and killing stops, we count four sting/bites. One on the chest, one on each ankle and one on the thumb joint. Dang. Here we go again! And most allergies intensify with added exposure, right? This time I consolidate all the thought into one plan, “I gotta up the Benadryl to avoid another steroid shot.” So my brain counts four bites and multiplies that by the two Benadryl, (those which were ineffective last time,) and I gave him six of the innocuous little pink pills. He’s in pain and he's listened to my hypebolic imagining of an entire body swollen, so he pops them down. I can tell he’s out of his mind in pain because he doesn’t stop to correct my math. And it's a good thing that he doesn't.
Now, women are not the only gender whose depths are totally unfathomable to the opposite genus of the species. While in pain, the husband heads back outside to move the mower in from the north forty and again, in he races--and again, he is swatting wasps and has been bitten/stung on his eyelid!
I coulda killed him!!!
But no worries, the Benadryl will probably kick in at anytime and it will do it for me.
When I read the bottle to see if we could up the dosage even more, I find the answer is NO.
Not just No, but,
OH NO!
Not to exceed six pills in a 24 hour period. What?
Hmmmm, I wonder what happens if you do?
He goes to shower and lie down and I get in the car to go off to church, only to discover the day-before-yesterday’s groceries sitting forgotten in the back seat and I discover that the fish has gone-off. Bad fish. Yeech. Such is the bite of reality that is my life.
Jump ahead. This morning, again while mowing, he comes racing in the house swatting wasps and when the panic and killing stops, we count four sting/bites. One on the chest, one on each ankle and one on the thumb joint. Dang. Here we go again! And most allergies intensify with added exposure, right? This time I consolidate all the thought into one plan, “I gotta up the Benadryl to avoid another steroid shot.” So my brain counts four bites and multiplies that by the two Benadryl, (those which were ineffective last time,) and I gave him six of the innocuous little pink pills. He’s in pain and he's listened to my hypebolic imagining of an entire body swollen, so he pops them down. I can tell he’s out of his mind in pain because he doesn’t stop to correct my math. And it's a good thing that he doesn't.
Now, women are not the only gender whose depths are totally unfathomable to the opposite genus of the species. While in pain, the husband heads back outside to move the mower in from the north forty and again, in he races--and again, he is swatting wasps and has been bitten/stung on his eyelid!
I coulda killed him!!!
But no worries, the Benadryl will probably kick in at anytime and it will do it for me.
When I read the bottle to see if we could up the dosage even more, I find the answer is NO.
Not just No, but,
OH NO!
Not to exceed six pills in a 24 hour period. What?
Hmmmm, I wonder what happens if you do?
He goes to shower and lie down and I get in the car to go off to church, only to discover the day-before-yesterday’s groceries sitting forgotten in the back seat and I discover that the fish has gone-off. Bad fish. Yeech. Such is the bite of reality that is my life.
So I clean that up and head off to church where the first medical professional I meet advises me to go home and monitor the patient since, “that’s a boatload of Benadryl.” "Just make sure he's still breathing." He was joking, right?
Turns out that Benadryl is a really bad high. All the google comments are warnings that suggest that this is not the party drug of choice because the side-effects are "a real downer, dude."
Yeah. I really coulda killed him.
After this experience, there is one thing I have learned for certain.
Turns out that Benadryl is a really bad high. All the google comments are warnings that suggest that this is not the party drug of choice because the side-effects are "a real downer, dude."
Yeah. I really coulda killed him.
After this experience, there is one thing I have learned for certain.
Probably 12 hours is the upper safety limit for the left-in-the-car fish.
That's My Reality, and Sometimes It Bites.
Sept. 2016
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