benadryl bender

Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bee

I retrieved my wedding ring from a dish within my nightstand and wondered if it would fit. It met the usual resistance before it settled into the waist above my third knuckle. It was a small miracle.

Five days prior to this I was stung by a bee. It was a classic Monday sucker-punch.

In the following hours and days I monitored swelling in my thumb, then my hand and later my forearm. They all turned an off-putting purple. For much of Tuesday and Wednesday my left limb looked like a cheap rubber arm. From some angles it looked like my longtime guitarist’s hand.

“Oh look,” I’d think, “Bryce’s hand is reaching for the cashew milk.” “Bryce’s hand is helping me coil the toaster cord.” “Bryce’s hand is washing my face. That’s creepy.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This narrative implies that Bryce’s limbs look like inexpensive prosthetics. I assure that his arms are reliably lively and realistic in appearance.

The bee got me after a long walk with Trip. I was dragging the stroller up my building’s stairs and holding him in my right arm. I felt the sting and let go of the stoller in such a way that it wouldn’t tumble down a floor. I shook my hand wildly and then carried on up the stairs to get inside our suite.

Then, I investigated. The stinger was stuck in my skin. A wiggling bug butt was attached and guts were strung out across my thumb.

I picked up my phone and texted Blake about what had happened. Just in case.

I wasn’t too worried as I’ve had a couple stings in the last year from wasps. What appeared more pressing in the moment was that Trip was overdue for a nap. It seemed he would fall asleep quickly and then I could deal with this sting if necessary. While he dozed off in my arms I felt a steady increase of sensation throughout my body. To be honest, it was kind of thrilling. Regrettably, the only descriptor that comes to mind is “buzzy”. I apologize for the unwanted pun

By the time I laid Trip in his crib and closed his door I was itching everywhere. I sent Blake another text. It had been 20 minutes since the last one.

“I think I need an anti-histamine,” it read. “Very itchy.”

Then I called him. No answer. Palms itching. Eyes itching. Inner ears itching. Everywhere I have skin, itching. Called again. No answer.

I was scratching. I was thinking about my brother and his bee allergy. He was stung when we were kids when we were cleaning an old wood granary. I ran to the house to tell Mom. She loaded him into our Ford SuperCab and left the farmyard with urgency. It’s a memory that’s always held the question, “What if?”

I decided it was better to leave my toddler alone and sleeping in his crib than delay and risk a greater emergency. I locked up and went to the pharmacy on the corner. My pharmacist friend happened to be working and was free to consult. She gave me off-brand Claritin and told me to take no more than one a day.

“ONE!? But I’m so itchy. Itchy everywhere. I want to take them all.”

She smiled. “Come back for Benadryl if it gets worse.”

I returned home. Blake was unloading his van. I was irrational with fear. I was angry at him for not answering his phone and felt completely justified. I took the Claritin and tried to avoid him. The itching was blotting out all reason and I retreated to my office to regroup. Blake came in to check on me and thanks to my panic state, we erupted into a nonsensical argument.

At some point, sanity prevailed and he recognized my fear. He saw my swelling hand and my discomfort. Then he said, “Let me look at your back.” I was covered in hives. He went to the pharmacy for Benadryl. I took it and then sobbed in relief. I was safe. Our son was safe. The scary situation was under control. And eventually the drugs took hold and I fell asleep.

For four days I took a Claritin in the morning and a double dose of Benadryl every six hours. After 48 hours I felt slight improvements in the swelling and persistent itching. Eventually my left knuckles re-emerged. Then my wedding band fit. I reduced the doses of anti-histamines and my brain fog lifted. However, it’s been a week and I still have general low-grade itching.

Recently, with my arm mostly back to normal, I went for a “get back on that horse” walk with Trip. On our return, I stopped by the hollyhocks I’ve been tending in the alley of our building. One plant in particular has been thriving. I transplanted it from an alley where people were just mowing them over. The roots on it were thick and woody, and I wasn’t sure it would take because I had to break them off to remove the plant from the hard soil. Incredibly, this singular effort has been producing waves of impressive blossoms in its new location.

I admired the flowers and saw that a few bumble bees were milling about the hollyhocks’ stamens. The bees were dusted with pollen and I felt a swell of pride over this small haven for them.

I also considered that this is likely where I met the bee who caused my anguish.

“Trippy, I hope we manage to grow even more flowers here next year. Look at all these bees doin’ their thing. What a success.”