A birthday to remember.

In our house, birthdays are a celebration. I always work hard to make each birthday in the family just as memorable as it can be. Usually, that starts by finding the perfect gift. This year, I set out to give my husband something truly memorable. He's got a new plan to find “inner harmony”, so I ordered him two Japanese bonsai trees. The choice was a good one—within hours, he was out pruning the little trees experiencing his first zen moment. As we were standing there in the backyard admiring his new plants in their place of honor on the back porch, a tiny red fire ant bit my foot. I wasn't going to let some ant ruin what was shaping up to be a truly successful birthday, so I grabbed the little sucker and squished him. Problem solved. For a few minutes, anyway. 

All the sudden, I started to itch. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to the itching—just little scratch here and a little scratch there, nothing too irritating. But as time passed it just seemed to get worse. Finally, I went it to the bathroom and looked under my shirt. There they were, all over my chest and arms. Hives!  My first reaction was annoyance. What did I get into in the garden this time? I thought. I decided to take a shower and rinse off whatever the horrible little substance was in the hopes of stopping the reaction in its tracks (for future reference, this is not a good choice). Five minutes later, I emerged from the shower covered from head to toe in puffy red welts. I couldn’t believe it. Where were they coming from? I had certainly never seen anything like this before.

As I started to get dressed, I glanced up at the mirror and noticed my face was bright red and my lips looked liked someone had shot me full of botox. I was blown up like a puffer fish. That's when the panic started to set in—not the screaming your head off kind of panic, but that deep panic where you know something is dangerously wrong. Reality finally hit. I was going through anaphylactic shock. My first reaction, like all anal retentive people, was to get on the computer to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, there it was. “This is a medical emergency, get to a hospital now, this may result in death.” Crap,” was all I could say.  Now came a new kind of panic, the horror of going to an emergency room on a weekend dragging two small children and an irritated husband. It can't be that bad, I thought, the internet's always making mountains out of molehills. So I popped a couple Benadryl and waited. Within minutes my chest started to tighten. That's when my husband grabbed the keys. “Load up,” he said. Within moments, my husband turned into Dale Earnhardt Jr. as he sped us through the traffic on 15-501.

Needless to say, we made it to the ER in record time. Here's a tip: apparently the statement, “I was bit by an insect and I'm having a severe allergic reaction” gets the ER staff moving at record speed. It wasn't long before I had been triaged and was on the gurney, headed to the ER's trauma center. Children under the age of twelve aren't admitted back there, so I waved goodbye to my husband and kissed the girls as they whisked me away.

For the next three hours, I would be under the expert care of the FirstHealth staff.  My husband, on the other hand, had to spend several hours entertaining two young girls with frequent trips to the hospital cafeteria. Maybe being the one on the stretcher wasn't so bad after all. The end of my visit came with an EpiPen and a lecture from the doctor informing me that a bite from a teeny, tiny little red fire ant could take me out. I also had new rules to follow, set down by the family. I am not allowed to wear sandals in the yard anymore. Tennis shoes only. The rule is strictly enforced—thanks to the money and candy my husband bribed the girls with so they'll tattle on me when he's not around.  All in all, the birthday was a success. Though he may not have found inner harmony, I have to say that I lived up to my goal of making my husband's birthday memorable. There was excitement, adventure, and we shared it as a family. I'm thinking next year, I'll try and break my arm.