Some would say I deserved the wasp sting.  That’s what I get for being home on a balmy day in February, relaxing in the backyard without even a coat on.  Well, I was minding my own business, when this nasty wasp just came upon me and stabbed me through my sweater.  The nerve!

I quickly hobbled inside to care for the sting.  This was tricky because the sting was on my cane-bearing arm: hence, hobbling was particularly awkward.  The last time I experienced a wasp sting, it turned into a blood infection, so I washed thoroughly with soap and water, disinfected with alcohol, and rubbed it with cortisone cream.  An hour later, as the swelling progressed, I applied ice, took a Benadryl, marked the perimeter of the swelling with a marker, and lay down.   When, an hour after that, the swelling had encompassed my entire forearm from elbow to wrist, I went to the doctor.

Back home three prescriptions later, I start channeling Retta Harp, my husband’s grandmother, who had all the fruit trees at Maywood chopped down due to her fear of bees.  I’m ok with bees and yellow jackets but something must be done about the wasps!!!

“Mom,” says Shelley,” you were outside.”

So?  Your point is…?

I go to bed, not before lining up the 7 different bottles of meds I’m currently taking for me, my hip, and the wasp.  Did you know that Benadryl aggravates Restless Leg Syndrome?  I read that at 1am while googling because I couldn’t stand thrashing my legs in bed any more.  The good news, of course, is that my new hip is healed enough to  thrash.

The next day, Shelley comes down with the flu. So… achey, coughing, feverish Shelley goes to the doctor where the nurse practitioner gets the Bedside Manner Award for yelling at her for not getting a flu shot.  She staggers home to bed with wonton soup and Gatorade.  She declined the $94 prescription for Tamiflu.  (The nurse practitioner also gets the Economic Sensitivity Award. )

Early, early, early the next morning, John and I hear Shelley in the bathroom with a crying Harper.  He’s throwing up.

Later, at a more sensible hour, I hear feeble, febrile Shelley’s conversation with a much-improved Harper:

“Quarantine.  We’re under quarantine.”

“No, you cannot go visit Nana and Great-Grandgrad.  No, you cannot invite Ethan and Madison over.  We are sick.  We are quarantined. You get to watch tv and play video games all day.”

Nothing takes the fun out of tv and video games like being told that’s what you have to do all day.  Maybe I should give Harper the Bug Zapper and put him to work on the wasps.