The Aftermath

Well, it happened, poison ivy got my spouse in earnest about a week after me.  So, the saga continues, plus one.

It has been said by roughly half the population that man-pain” is felt much more deeply than “woman-pain.”  I’m just sayin, this has been the case since the beginning of time even in spite of the whole childbirth thing.  Oh, but in a day when medical schools are beginning to refer to breast-feeding as chest-feeding…. I just don’t know where to go with this….

I’m trying to keep the whining to a minimum, at least publicly, but for mercy’s sake!  “Misery loves company,” is attributed to English naturalist and botanist, John Jay (1627-1705); a naturalist, who might know a tad more about the misery associated with plant allergies than most.  So, I want to thank those of you who have shared your stories having at some time in your life felt my pain in the aftermath of this creepy, crawly, stinging, burning, irritating allergic malady.

After a five-day stint on a steroid, which sort of eliminated the blisters provided by my own excellent immune system, I developed a sore throat.  I nearly collapsed at the possibility that I may have passed on some virus, any virus, to my senior-plus loved one whom I have been visiting daily for several months.

However, my common sense established that the temporary sore throat was a result of my lowered immune system’s inability to fight off my regular allergic reaction to among other summer culprits, our once damp basement, now fortified by an immense dehumidifier and fan.  I work out in that space when the outdoors is inhospitable via humidity, storms, or heat in excess of the lower 80s, all the while singing at the top of my lungs to my playlist.  Thus, the scratchy sore throat.

It is not a good idea to work out in the basement wearing one of my “Covid-masks.”   My dumb thought was to exchange the minuscule retention of my own carbon dioxide trapped in the mask during my work out for the potential of breathing in vestiges of leftover mold from the depths of the cement block basement walls, during exertion.  There was a half-day of severe allergic congestion following that bright idea.

Right when I thought I was on the downhill slope, I discovered a sore patch on the back of my neck, right at the hairline.  Hubby sprayed this new line of poison with his friend, calamine.  And a sort of secondary red and stinging allergic reaction, not worse but equal to the blisters, appeared on my mid to upper arms, both arms.

I have discovered that if you can’t find rolled gauze in the store, 4×4 gauze pads can be cut in half, unfolded and they work similarly as the rolled stuff (soaked in boiled Jewel-weed stem broth) to serve as your wet/dry dressings.  Did I say that my husband is totally enamored with calamine in the spray can?  And I’m liking a bit of cornstarch baby powder, as I slowly heal.

I have been doing my best to not cross contaminate with myself or my spouse, so towels, wash cloths, bedding, and clothing; in short, everything I touch, has been washed daily.  After doing laundry so often for the last three weeks I wouldn’t be surprised if our water provider either made a special visit or sent an urgent phone call to our residence asking why the uptick?

I wondered if the new, or ongoing, I don’t know, feeling of irritation on my skin, which literally feels like gentle but constant contact with an unused dryer sheet, might have started a new allergy from said laundry product.  I even replaced my lifelong habit of using these and tried using a benign tablespoon of white vinegar in the wash and a baseball sized aluminum foil ball in the dryer which does not, as promised, prevent static cling.

In the near future, I guess I’m off to purchase wool dryer balls.  No holds barred here.

Besides daily oatmeal baths and cleansing showers, calamine lotion is my caregiver.  Cousin Vaughn suggested a novel application method utilizing a farm-grade spraying apparatus filled with said calamine.  A shower in it sounds good to me, about now.   I’ve tried all manner of home remedies.

Thank you, Harry for the Jewel-weed reminder; something else important that I forget from year to year.  Thank you, Bernie, for the tip for prevention, so there is no next time.

Thanks to Layne and those others who have prayed for me, some of whom are covert in your pleas on my behalf.  And, toward Eleni, who created a soothing mix of essential oils which are balm to my appendages and her prayers balm to my soul, I am always in a state of thanks and love.   I am receptive and grateful for all of your feedback and thoughtfulness.

I will always love the outdoors and this hiccup in the space of time will not deter that.  In fact, my step count on Fitbit testifies that my outdoor work has commenced, as usual.

It remains a Covid-crazy year folks and this is a summer to remember, at least in my neck of the woods. I’m personally looking forward to Autumn.

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