For the past week, I have been driven to brink of insanity with a severe case of poison sumac. My fingers were the worst, all swollen and blistered. The blisters traveled up my arm to the right side of my face and on the tip of the right ear. When I woke up Friday morning, I felt more forming on my upper lip and in my nose. My blisters mocked the over the counter remedies. Rubbing alcohol, cortisone, solarcaine, oatmeal soap, toothpaste. Bah! Time to utilize the health plan.

That Friday morning as I felt my nose swelling, I roused the kids from their beds and had them dressed and eating fried crap at the Burger King that faced the walk in medical center before 8:00. I had to be the first one in there, because I needed relief. All I wanted to do was itch. I could think of nothing else. Hurry, kids, eat those hash browns. No, better yet. Let’s take them with us. Put them in your pocket. Come on! Quick!

Itch. Itch. Itch.

The doctor took one look at my arm. I thought it was a bad sign when she backed away from me to the other side of the examining room. That bad, Doc?

Those knowledgeable in the ways of torture know that there are various ways to achieve extreme discomfort in humans. There’s extreme heat, extreme cold, sleep deprivation, and, of course, there’s itching.

Itch.

On Saturday, Steve sought revenge on the evil vegetation. In 89 degree heat and covered in flannel, heavy jeans, two pairs of socks, Steve uprooted sumac and just about every other plant that got in his way. If the heat hadn’t slowed him down, he might have paved the entire backyard.

Pumped up with steroids and anti-histamines, I’m starting to recover. The blisters are forming a hard crust and have stopped spreading. Still, when I wake up in the morning, before I take that first pill, all I want to do is scratch.