I hustled myself in to the doctor’s office early on Saturday morning to see somebody about the posion ivy. Since Thursday, the itch had expanded further to areas I hadn’t noticed before: down my right leg and across the hipbone, in the webbing between my left index and middle finger (precursor to the dreaded Blister Fingers), and up and down my right arm, which was already resembling the flesh-eating virus. I met with a kindly Italian doctor and he quickly prescribed some Prednisone (cough be damned) and some topical skin cream, which has the consistency of axle grease. (this was, however, the easiest and quickest doctor’s visit I’ve ever had; in 45 minutes I had been treated and was driving home with my prescription.)
Jen and I have been planning out our priorities over the next couple of months, trying to sock away money for various projects around the house. Command Decision Number One was giving up on the IKEA bed until Jen gets her back and nerve issues worked out. I’m going to have to strap it to the roof of the Jeep and try to return it this week without taking flight on the Beltway—big fun. The floors downstairs have climbed back to priority one; with our tax return and a little boost from our bank accounts, we’ve got enough to cover the first floor and stairs. Next up is our often-dreamed-of anniversary trip, which we’ve been putting off thinking about until, well, we hit the lottery. We decided to scale back the dream trip to Italy and think modestly. Doing a little research online, we found a preplanned seven-day bed-and-breakfast tour through Ireland and plane fare for less than half the cost of a trip to Venice, and decided to go for that instead.
My ability to do any heavy lifting outside is still curbed by the creeping crud, so we took Saturday afternoon to look at plants and start planning our yard for the year. I bought a bunch of PVC and roughed in the basics of the irrigation system in the greenhouse yesterday, and had the chance to meet another set of neighbors behind us (the ones who just put an immense addition on to the back of their house, and who were gracious enough to give me the tour.)
I’d better get over this stupid rash soon, because the weather is much better now, and I have a ton of work to do around the house before it gets too hot.
Do you suppose it’s possible to *not* be allergic to poison ivy? Because I’ve never reacted to it at all, and I know I’ve been exposed several times. Just this weekend a neighbor informed me I’ve been walking through a patch to get back & forth to my BBQ pit.
That said, just talking about it makes me itch.
From what the website says, most “higher mammals” have some degree of allergy to urushiol. A quote:
“Upwards of 90% of people are allergic to urushiol oil, it’s a matter of time and exposure. The more times you are exposed to urushiol, the more likely it is that you will break out with an allergic rash. ” source
You could be in that lucky 10%, my dear.
Meanwhile, my wife keeps pointing to the ONE TINY BLISTER she got last weekend and remarking, “I must not be allergic to Poison Ivy at all.” Then she looks at my Fleshe Eating Virus and shakes her head sadly.
I hate to break this to you, but my “rash” is already gone.
This is one thing I hope any of our offspring inherit from me, that’s for sure.
Well I’m certainly a “higher mammal.” My boobs would seem to indicate I’m *especially* evolved, right? RIGHT?!?!?!? ;-p
Um, er, I don’t get it either. That said, I haven’t been exposed as much as Bill has, but I know I have been. Maybe your kids will get the Auntie Renie anti-crud genes. The true test will be tomorrow, as I *know* I was hauling poison ivy vines out over the weekend. No itch thus far.
Hey, knock it off! I’m so allergic I’m catching a case of it over the internet(s).