-By wawame
It’s been a rough week.
Spring is certainly in the air, along with massive amounts of pollen. Tax season has come and gone, yet there are still some that remain to be done. Graduation plans are heating up, as is the trepidation concerning year-end exams. And there’s always a fundraising event going on as the school’s volunteer organizations put forth their final effort in making seed money for next year’s start-up. Such was the case this past Friday night.
Band Bingo Night… wouldn’t miss it for the world! Not only is it loads of fun, but the initial investment of around $40 to play usually means that I, the hubby, the boychild, and my wingman (dear and cherished friend) walk out with about $100 in combined prizes. This Friday night was no exception. Only one thing was different. That thing was…I started itching.
Approximately two weeks ago, I had some overdue dental work done. Yes, I am a total wimp when it comes to someone prodding around in my mouth. Blame it on a youth spent dealing with braces. Blame it on an old-school dentist whose working philosophy regarding Novocain was, “Less is more”. Whatever the reason, I hate going to a dentist with an unparallel passion. But, having no other choice, I went to a new dentist, and immediately fell in love. He was perfection. He was gentle, kind, and more importantly… he was pain free. When it was all said and done, he gave me my instructions along with a prescription for Amoxicillin. All was right with the world. Ten days later, I was all set to play Band Bingo with a bright smile and new lease on life. But, life had a different idea.
Just as the fourth game began, the itching started. It wasn’t bad at first, just totally inconvenient. What I was sitting on was itching the worst, so a few quick trips to the ladies room mandated that the hubby and boychild tend my cards. Soon, I began to wonder if I was going to have to spend the night in the ladies room, considering the itching became non-stop. But there was Bingo to play, so I persevered. I sat there squirming in my seat as one number after the other was called, until the itching became so intense, I actually contemplated excusing myself and stepping outside into the courtyard. Only a wall of glass was separating me from what promised to be utopia. I knew no one would notice if I stripped down and rolled in the wet grass so to soothe my inflamed skin. No one would even look my way, not when there was a chance for the illusive ‘O-75’ or ‘N-36’ to be called. No one would care that, if the said grass didn’t offer me needed comfort, I could simply roll over to the small patch of pea gravel that surrounded the non-working water fountain, and burrow my now whelped body into the cool and abrasive stones. There was a country ham to be won, coupled with an oil change, so the partially naked woman rolling around in the courtyard would have been of little concern.
The boychild left the game early and was good enough to run by the grocery store and purchase me some Benadryl. I popped a couple of tablets before the last game, but relief was nowhere in sight. Later that same night, I sat alone and half-naked at my computer, back-scratcher in hand and curse words on my lips. The itching was only getting worse. Finally, I went to bed, and a miserable hour later, I finally fell asleep. Hubby had to work the next day, so I kept the moaning down to a low roar. Little did I know that the real nightmare would begin the moment I woke up. So, let’s just cut to the chase.
A miserable day was spent going from bed to computer, and then only so I could look up and gain tons of useless knowledge concerning ‘hives‘. Finally, it was time for hubby to come home. Nothing could prepare him for the sight that awaited him. Had I not been in such misery, I might have actually enjoyed the look on his face. There he stood in stunned silence, as his wife of twenty-six years looked at him with her one good eye, considering the other was now swollen shut. I might have smiled had my bottom lip not been three times its normal size. In his wide-eyed wonderment, he was only able to mutter five meager words, spoken as if the hives had caused my IQ to drop at least 40 points… “Have-you-called-the-doctor?” What a dolt. There was no doctor to call. It was a Saturday. No doctors exist on Saturdays, only over-priced emergency rooms with eight to ten hour waits. Apparently, it wasn’t my IQ that had dropped. Again, he tried to communicate. It was then I opted to share my vast knowledge of hives.
“Dur-deck,” I replied, but he didn’t understand. What an imbecile he can be. “Dur-deck… Dur-deck,” I repeated. Again, he shook his head so to signal he was oblivious, and I began to wonder if this marriage was going to work. Finally, realizing that he just wasn’t going to get it, I opted to write the one simple word. It didn’t surprise me that, when I took out my pen, he drew back, as if wondering if I was going to write something down or impale him in the chest. Believe me; it could have gone either way. He sighed in relief when I handed him the note, and without so much as a ‘howdy-do’, he ran out the door to go chat it up with the local pharmacist about the pros and cons of Zyrtec.
The itching was relieved rather quickly after the first dose, but the swelling lingered. More than once I caught my beloved husband staring at my larger-than-life lips. Dream on, Bingo Boy, it ain’t gonna happen. Finally, when he knew that I was no longer in danger of choking for breath and that he certainly wasn‘t going to benefit from my new Angelia Jolie look, he went to bed. That’s when I had time to think.
Why, after all these years, did I get the hives? This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a penicillin based medicine. I’ve never had a problem before, so why now? And why did the hives suddenly appear after taking the said medication for ten days? Ten days? I hadn’t eaten or drank anything different, so food allergies were not an issue. Am I to believe that I developed a later-in-life allergy a full ten days after starting the medication? Something just wasn’t right. And then it dawned on me. It wasn’t the Amoxicillin, and it darn sure wasn’t anything I had eaten. I hadn’t broken out in hives because of something I had had, but rather something I hadn’t had. What I hadn’t had was Tucker McCall on my TV screen.
That’s right. I got the hives because of Tucker McCall withdrawal. It makes perfect sense. Call me an addict; I don’t care. But, it’s as plain as the swollen nose on my face… Tucker McCall withdrawal can cause a severe case of the hives. Now, I am left to wonder if I am the only victim. I dare say not. There are more than likely thousands, if not millions of others who have suffered the same fate as me. It was bad enough when Stephen Nichols and Mary Beth Evans left Days, and nothing short of a miracle that I didn’t break out then. But, I will say this; if I ever start itching again, I will hop on the next flight to Los Angeles. There, I will join countless others who are whelped and swollen, clawing at their skin as if their very life depended on it. Together, this band of big-lipped fans will storm the Y&R studios at CBS, shaking our half-emptied bottles of ‘Dur-deck’ as we demand more screen time for Tucker McCall. In unison, we shall roll across the cool concrete floors in search of relief… a relief that only more Tucker McCall screen time can deliver. It will be a sight for sore eyes, or in most cases, eyes swollen shut. Rest assured that our mispronounced demands will be for more than just a once or twice a week token appearance. Stephen Nichols is much too talented not to be seen on a regular basis, and I’ve got the hives to prove it.
Take heed, Powers That Be… take heed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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