A Pox on Me

One morning I awakened at 4AM to the unpleasant sensation of my feet on fire.  This was about 2 months ago, coincidentally on the anniversary of my divorce.  I ascertained that the pugs hadn't somehow gotten hold of matches (or opposable thumbs, for that matter) and turned on the light to examine the problem area.  It looked like I must have stepped in an anthill.  I had big itchy red bumps all over my feet.  How strange!  I couldn't remember stepping in an anthill.  How drunk was I last night?  Oh yeah...not drunk at all.  I fell asleep reading.  Oh my God, I am such a librarian.  Where did my life go?!   Nevermind.  Back to the problem at hand...er...foot. I decided to dose up with Benadryl and watch tv until it knocked me out.

Worked like a charm!  I woke up on my couch 4 hours later...but the bites had traveled!!  What??  They were all the way up my legs and on my back, too.  A few had made their way to my neck and face as well.  WHAT THE HELL?  I looked like a scary picture from a medical textbook.  It was simply not possible that I had stepped in a huge anthill and just not noticed.  I now had a fever and couldn’t walk very well, as stepping on the enflamed bumps felt like stepping on a cactus.  Good Lord! This seemed like an emergency, so I put on some really baggy clothes and went to the Urgent Care Facility.

Luckily the UCF was not very crowded and I was able to get in pretty quickly.  The doctor was nice but she couldn't hide her alarm when she saw all my spots.

"Wow!" she said.

"Yeah," was all I could muster.  I must say that I hate when doctors exclaim
in some way about your condition.  It's disconcerting.  Especially when it's a psychologist, but that's another article.  Besides, psychologists never exclaim
about my crazy.  I've never even seen a psychologist.  You were misinformed. Perhaps you were thinking of some other, less sane person.  Back to my saga.

Everyone at the UCF was acting all skittish about my condition which totally activated my hypochondria.  The nurse took my blood pressure, but first made a little covering for my arm with paper towels so that my scabies or whatever-the-hell wouldn't touch the blood pressure cuff.  Then the doctor came back and recommended a huge variety of tests...including one for SYPHILIS.  What?  Who the hell gets syphilis???  Jesus God, lady!  Do I look like someone who fucks carnies?  Without protection??  (My apologies to all of the carnies who read G&S. Perhaps you just have a weird reputation, much like librarians.)

I said, "Um, I don't really think it's likely that I have syphillis."

The doctor was all, "Oh of COURSE not, but we have to check all possibilities.  And syphilis does give you skin problems sometimes.  We should test for everything since you're sexually active."

Aack!  Sexually active?  Why do I feel 13 all of a sudden?  Are you there God? It’s me Gigi.  Oh please, doctor, don’t tell my mom!

So they were going to test me for everything under the sun.  Including the dreaded syphilis, as well as lupus, hepatitis and HIV.  And to add insult to injury they had some guy terrorize me further by coming into the exam room, speaking in hushed tones and carrying a consent form for me to sign.  He whispered that I could choose to pay for all of these tests by myself and hide it from my insurance company or I could opt to have them pay for it.  Um, hello?  What is the only benefit of my shitty child-filled job?  INSURANCE.  You're fuckin' right they're gonna pay for it!

"Why would I want to pay for this myself when I have insurance?" I asked Whispery McFormwielder.

"Well, sometimes the companies hold having these kinds of tests against you. They're not supposed to...but....sometimes it puts you into a riskier lifestyle category."

He's telling this to the girl who fell asleep reading last night.  So very risky, my lifestyle.

The nurse comes back and takes viles full of my possibly syphillitic blood and I am feeling totally freaked out, when the doctor comes in with a sort of diagnosis.  I have some really complicated sounding thing that basically means "really bad rash" in Latin.  She thinks it's some sort of reactivation of the chicken pox virus, but it's not chicken pox.  And it’s not contagious.  “Is it Monkey Pox?”  I wonder.  Whatever.  I am going to tell everyone it is, because it sounds really funny.  I’ll tell people I got it from fucking the zoo keeper.

I get a prescription for an anti-viral and go home and sit on my couch and feel sad.  And then I remember that I have a date that night and feel worse.  Damn.  I have to cancel.  My date will shun me and the public will cry and shield their eyes when they see my pox.

So I call my date and tell him about my affliction. “Oh, that sucks,” he says sympathetically.  “Would you like me to bring over some food and movies?”

Hmm….we’ve only been dating a week.  Is it too soon to reveal myself in a poxy state?  Will he be scared off?

“I look REALLY bad,” I say, “But if you think you can handle it, I’d love for you to come over.”

So he comes over with cheesy 80s movies and Thai food.  Wow.  Two of my favorite things in the world.  And he doesn’t shield his eyes or look stricken when he sees me. He claims that I don't look terrible, just itchy.  He’s nice.  This dude either really likes me or wants desperately to get in my pants, so much that even the pox won’t deter him.  I hope it’s an exciting combination of both.  Unfortunately for him, our date consists of me falling in and out of feverish sleep while he watches movies on my couch.  Oh well.

In a couple of days I get the results of my blood work...which show that I am in good health other than my pox.  I have no diseases, not even the slightest case of syphillis.

The pox are itchy and ugly and I feel like ass.  My fabulous friends bring me food, movies and magazines.  I lay around for a few days until I don't have a fever and I am so totally bored that I think that the children might actually be more entertaining than laying around my house, so I go back to work.

I thought that was the end of my pox drama, but a month or so later I awake to the same burning awfulness...this time mostly on my legs and back.  Fucking hell!  My doctor thinks it must be some kind of allergy or weirdness with my immune system, but nobody can figure it out.  I take Benadryl and sleep for 3 days.  Killa Gorilla suggests going on a detoxifying diet where I eat only healthy foods and drink lots of water.  Like the Man Diet, but with actual food.  So I do.  It makes me hungry and grouchy, but more energetic.  And the pox go away much faster.

So I decided to make a change in my lifestyle wherein I stop eating like a 6 year old. No more Oreos for dinner.  No more eating only nachos for every meal.  No.  I’ve become one of those very special people who watches what they eat.  I haven’t been eating meat and I’m avoiding dairy and trying to eat lots of salad.  Less caffeine and less alcohol.  And I take vitamins.  Sigh.  I wonder what my insurance company would think of my risky lifestyle now?  But I've been pox free for almost a month.  Will it last?  Will I fall of the wagon and eat cheeseburgers and Twinkies?  Will I fuck carnies?  Who knows?  Stay tuned for further health updates…

Gigi 12.12.03