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Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy

Perhaps in a ploy by the ghosts of Batman & Robin to ruin my Dark Knight experience tomorrow, my weekend at the cottage has resulted in a week of the horrors of poison ivy. I haven’t had poison ivy in at least 8 years, but used to get it really bad. Every summer, any sort of outdoorsy activity resulted in two weeks of hell. One gross example, and skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want to know: When I was 13 I was helping my father build a house (read: he got so annoyed with my incapability in doing so that all I was really doing was wheelbarrowing debris and garbage to a dumpster out back) while I had poison ivy. When I got home one day, my mother had to actually cut the jeans off my legs because the fluid the ivy patches release from your skin had bound the jeans to my leg. I’ve also not been able to open my eye on a few occasions, and looked like I had a third lip.

I thought I’d become immune to it, as I’d heard can happen. I never got it again after I was 16 or 17, even when I knew I’d come in contact with it. But no, it is back. Sunday I noticed some redness after a drunken night that involved me attempting to find firewood in the forest many times, as well as some standard outdoor peeing in the woods. By Monday, I looked like a burn victim and felt like a leper. The doctor offered pills, but warned that though effective, they are dangerous and potentially very damaging to my liver. I figured the cottage weekend had already done enough damage in that regard, and decided to just look at internet-remedies to find a way around it.

Apparently, mothers across the web agree on one solution: Scolding the poison ivy (which is pretty much covering me, thankfully except my face) with the hottest water you can stand a few times a day, followed by scattering Gold Bond over it and, if possible, wrapping it up in gauze. And they’re right, except the effects wear off after an hour or so, and you’re back to extreme discomfort. I saw Wanted last night, and could barely focus despite the fact that the film was MADE to keep your attention, and I fear the same for The Dark Knight, which I bought tickets for weeks ago. I could take Benadryl, which totally gets rid of the itch, but it does so by numbing your body and mind to an extent that coherently viewing anything besides Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List (which yes, I did) is impossible. Or just hope the next 24 hours do some serious cyber-mother magic as I remedy up the boiling water-Gold Bond plan as much as humanly possible.

Anyway, if this isn’t gross enough, I’ve posted an image of a severe case I found during my remedy search after the jump. Its nothing like what I have, thank god, and may or may not induce vomiting. Enjoy!

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