If you have been unfortunate enough to contract this bastard rash then you know I am not over-exaggerating in the least when I tell you that Poison Ivy is nature’s greatest asshole.
It really, really sucks.
I had it once a few years ago and after a week of bathing in oatmeal, Calamine lotion and baking soda I went to urgent care itching, scratching and sobbing. I had to go on wretched steroids to clear it up. Ever since that fateful day I have lived in fear of the rash of all mother f#cking rashes.
Five days ago I got it again. What started as a tickle on my neck turned into a major itch-pocolypse. My whole neck is currently swollen, red and bumpy. My legs are slathered up in a bright pink, chalky film and my chest and arms are dotted with evil, little reminders that this is what I get for working in the yard.
Alas I have traveled down this itchy road before so I know there is a good chance I will survive it all, just not gracefully. Here is what life is looking like:
Pink is my new color. Head to toe, itchy, pissy pink mom covered in Calamine lotion here. Even though I am pretty sure this shit doesn’t work a lick I am willing to try it. (Really it is about as worthless as tits on a tree.) Why does it have to be so watery and messy though? How is it possible that we can send men to the freaking moon in rocket ships but not add some kind of thickening agent to stupid ass Calamine lotion?!? It’s staining my clothes, my sheets, my bathrooms and my soul.
I am becoming a chemist, a very desperate chemist, constantly searching the internet for a promise of peace and relief from the twenty four hour burn. If Pinterest told me that I could cure my rash by covering myself in butter and running around the block butt naked I would do it in a heartbeat. My rashy ass would be burning a hole in the pavement right now if I came across that promise. You all better believe that I would be hauling naked-grease tail around the block instead of being stuck here in the den, ranting to you good people, while my dog humps the ottoman. In my gunky, pink bathroom I have tinkered with oatmeal, tea tree oil, baking soda and vinegar. My counters are lined with whatever I could buy at Rite Aid in hopes of kicking this by the time we leave for vacation on Tuesday. Poison Ivy has quickly turned me into a Pinteresting Mad Scientist.
There is no sleep for the itchy. Poison Ivy gives zero fucks that I have four children and a busy life to devote myself to each and everyday. It cares nothing for my beach vacation quickly approaching, and it reminds me of this each night when it keeps me awake, wide eyed and miserable. You can not sleep with this shit! Benadryl helps a little, but only for a few fleeting hours. Do you know what is worse than constantly dreaming about ripping your own flesh from your body? Being so tired (and itchy) that you can barely lift your eyelids…in summer…with four active children at home.
My Leper status is has me cancelling plans all over town. (First world problems clearly!) Pool days, summer bar-b-que, and girls night are all went down the shitter this week. The only thing I could not turn my itchy, spotty back on is my hair appointment. Yes my twenty year old stylist recoiled when she saw my patchy skin and yes I assured her she could not get it. In all honesty I don’t think she can get it. The internet said she would be perfectly fine. I rarely get a moment to get my roots and grey hairs dyed so her disdain and scorn was a price that I was willing to pay.
I am going to give this thing four days to move on and leave my poor body alone. In four days I will be lying on a beach, drinking on a boat an feasting on mounds and mounds of East Coast lobster claws. You better believe that I will be trading my Calamine lotion for suntan lotion come hell or high water.
The Tale of Mummyhood
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