We’re experiencing technical difficulty here, so for a moment, there will be a slight delay in the posting of additional USNA stuff, Paris’ birthday pix, and highlights of Cameron’s first visit to Florida.
Okay…it’s not a technical issue. It’s a severe case of “dumb ass”. Let me explain:
Some of you have already heard, but for those that haven’t…I had a brief run-in with some fire ants yesterday and lost the battle convincingly. I’ve been stung by bees before (who hasn’t?), and two weeks ago, I even managed to step on a colony of fire ants living in the seam between the sidewalk and the curb. Who worries about fire ants on the damn sidewalk, right? They gave me a good chomp, and I survived. A little annoying itch and discomfort for a few days, but nothing serious.
Yesterday’s fire ants must have been bionic. Genetically altered. Freaks of nature! Here’s the deal –
Cameron and I decide to play a few holes of golf. I execute an excellent shot, but as any golfer knows, the Golf Gods love to make life miserable, so my excellent shot went a wee bit too far. I find my ball sitting amongst some palm trees, saw palmetto, big grasses, and other detritus.
No biggie. I climb into the slop (looking for snakes, scorpions and fire ants the whole time), and I make another excellent shot to escape the slop. I go on to par the hole (for the record).
Anyway, Cameron is congratulating me on my golf prowess, I’m walking back to the cart, I climb in, look down, and “Oh Shit!”…my right leg is set on fire. Cameron claims I used a lot of foul language — I don’t recall. I’m covered from the knee down in fire ants. Where’d they come from? I looked! I was careful!
Well, I get those little bastards off of my leg, and I’m thinking “Lord Jesus, please bring me that chemical foam shit that puts out big fires. I need it real bad on this-here leg.” Jesus did not answer my call for help. My leg remained engulfed in flames.
Cameron asks me if I’m okay. I do my best “sure…no problem” smile and off we go. As mentioned earlier, I par the hole. On to the next one…
I’m standing on the next tee, and I swear to God it feels like those little monsters are still on me, and they’re climbing into every orifice on my body. Every…single…orifice is starting to itch and burn. My ears are closing up, my throat is getting a little funky, and my nose is starting to run. I won’t go into details on other orifices. I’m starting to turn very red, and I’m developing these bubbles on every inch of my skin. Cameron asks if I’m okay. Of course I’m okay…I’m Dad, right?
We make it to the green. Cameron pulls off a couple of nice shots. I’m looking for a sign. Any sign. I need a sign that will help me understand that God is not trying to strike me down. The sky is dark. Lightning flashes. Not a good sign.
Cameron suggests we get the hell out of Dodge. “Dad, I don’t like lightning, and you don’t look so good.” I insist on playing one more hole. Why? Who knows? Musta been another symptom of the bites…see earlier comments about the severe case of “dumb ass”. I had it bad.
So we play one more hole, and I manage to convince myself that I’m feeling better. Much better, thank you. We head home.
I walk in and Karen looks at me and says “what the hell happened to you?” I’m thinking “Jeez, is it that obvious?” I announce that I’m showering.
I’m getting undressed, I look in the mirror, and to my surprise 8,000,000 mosquitoes have attacked me. That’s what it looks like, anyway. I have bumps and bubbles everywhere. I decide a shower will help. Did I mention anything about a severe case of dumb ass?
Meanwhile, Karen decides to call the hospital. They strongly suggest I stop by for a visit. They ask Karen if I can breathe okay. “Can you breathe okay?” she asks. “Sure”, I say…wondering if I’m having trouble breathing. “I’ll be done here in a minute”.
“The hospital says this could be life threatening.”
“Yeah, yeah, just let me rinse off, okay?” God I’m a smart guy.
We get in the car. Karen does 105 mph down our street. Neighbors hate us. I don’t care. Suddenly, I’m not feeling so great.
We get to the hospital and Karen executes one of those sliding parking maneuvers that dumps the newly anointed Head Dumb Ass directly into the Emergency Room. “Go in, tell them what’s going on while I park the car,” she shouts. I go in.
“Hi, I had a fight with some fire ants. I lost,” I announce. “Have a seat,” says the nice lady at the door. I don’t move.
Apparently it took a few wild gestures and a couple of shouts of “Sir! Sir!” from the nice lady before the Head Dumb Ass mutters “What?”. The nice lady asks “Are you allergic to bee stings or other bites?”
“Never have been before,” I say. She tells me in no uncertain terms to “sit”. I sit.
They take me into some room and jack an IV into my hand. Then they show up with a whole bunch of syringes…”this is the fire ant cocktail” they say with a smile. The syringes are going to shoot the cocktail components into the IV. Oh Joy. I’m thinking it better not burn like the fire ant bites did or I’m going to be kicking some serious ass.
Two of the cocktail components burn. It turns out I don’t care. The burn isn’t like the burn I’m experiencing across my body. The other components make me taste battery acid in my mouth. I still don’t care. Paris wants to know if I’m okay. I show her the IV. I smile. “Now that’s how you do it when you get a shot. Did you see me cry?” I ask.
She mutters something I swore sounded a lot like “dumb ass…”
They ask me if I’m breathing okay. And you know what? I didn’t realize just how much I couldn’t breathe until I could breathe again. “Wow,” I say. “I feel great!” They smile like they’re looking at a very challenged young child. I pass out.
Why did I pass out? Well, one of the cocktail components is benadryl. Did I spell that right? Who knows? I’m not feeling like the smartest guy in the world right now. Anyway, benadryl knocks you on your fanny, and after 45 minutes in the hospital to make sure I was going to stay in this world for a bit longer, they sent me home where I promptly passed out again.
I feel pretty good today. No major itching so I’m avoiding more benadryl (I’d be in a coma). Believe it or not, Zantac has antihistamine properties, so I’m taking that. I’ve got a sheet of steroids to take to keep inflammation down. And I’m now the proud owner of an Epi-pen.
One of our close friends here in Florida carries an Epi-pen, and I know he’s laughing and thinking “dumb ass” as he reads this. But for the rest of you, an Epi-pen is a torture instrument disguised as a means of quickly injecting oneself with Epinephrine. You hold this thing in your fist and slam it into your thigh to inject the medicine. It even works through clothes! For the challenged among us! Epinephrine keeps those of us that do battle with fire ants (and lose) breathing long enough to get to a hospital and order a fire ant cocktail. Great stuff!
So! Why the reaction yesterday when I never had one before? No answer…
Will I always react to a bee sting or fire ant attack like this? Who knows? But…chances are that if I do, the symptoms I experience will be more severe. Hence the Epi-pen…
So that’s what’s causing the delay, folks. Sorry about that. I’m going to get working this evening and over the next few days to get some stuff posted. I need to earn back your respect. Lord knows I’ve lost the respect of my wife and kids…