The Bane of My Existence

 

As I lay in bed the other night, feeling sorry for myself, I asked God if it was really necessary for me to have a poison ivy rash every summer of my life. At sixty-six years old, must I really continue to suffer these miserable rashes? 

As a child, I played in fields and woods, ignorant of the plant that would hijack two weeks of my summer vacations with itching misery every year. Back then, we gave no thought to sunscreen, tick repellent, or plant identification. Summer vacation was pure freedom to swim, play outside after dark, explore streams and woods, and get into general mischief. 

I don't recall any of the other kids in our neighborhood having poison ivy, only me. I remember one day in particular. I was sitting on our front stoop and my friends came to call me out to play. I was too miserable even to play. The kids studied my legs as though they were a circus wonder. The rashes are hideous when they weep. The best treatment we had at that time were oatmeal baths and Calamine lotion. Neither had any good effect on my rashes. No, having poison ivy meant enduring the rash until it was good and ready to go away. Those rashes lasted for two weeks at the least. On hot nights when it was too hot to sleep, it felt even worse as we tossed and turned in our beds. Oh, the misery. Poison ivy was the bane of my summer existence.

The year that I was entering fifth grade, on one of the last evenings of summer vacation, I went with my  friend, Rosina, to her grandmother's house. It was an old farm way out in the countryside of Averill Park. This was Labor Day and it was our next to last night before school began. We were very excited about school starting but we were soaking up this last freedom. We played under shrubs and hedges, we explored an empty camp building and we generally ran around with no purpose whatsoever. I remember finding a fuzzy leaf and rubbing on my cheek. It was not a poison ivy leaf, I am sure of that now, but we must have been crawling through a patch of the poison plant while we played. The next morning I woke up with my face swollen and burning. My eyes were swollen shut and my skin felt tight. To my horror, I had poison ivy all over my face. That was the first time my mother ever took me to the doctor for poison ivy. The doctor gave me an injection and some cream. That rash went away quicker than other rashes had done, but I had to miss the first two days of school. When I did return to school, I still had oozing sores, red skin and no self-confidence about my appearance. It was difficult walking into a classroom filled with new classmates who had already chosen desks and had begun school without me. In my anxiety I wanted to turn and run home. To my utter relief, there were three girls who were kind and pitying of me. Each of them invited me to sit next to them. I still remember their names and faces and the feeling of melting relief I had for being accepted. To this day, I think of them as my heroes.

So, here we are today. I can identify poison ivy in a flash. It grows in all the outlying edges of our property and I always steer clear. BUT, in the last few years, it is cropping up in our yard. Seedlings grow on our patio, under shrubs and in our groomed beds. I think the birds are dropping the poison ivy berries they pluck or eat from the mature vines in the woods. These berries take root in our yard. I have seen the thick, hairy poison ivy vines that climb twenty feet high on old tree trunks back there. Those old vines have clusters of berries on them. 

Last weekend, I decided that I needed to pull up a poison ivy vine that I had let go last year for fear of touching it. It was growing up one of our Viburnum shrubs and I was afraid it would strangle it. I put on gloves and very carefully reached under the shrub to pull it out at the root. I tenderly tossed it aside where it could shrivel up. Then, I went into the house and, out of caution, washed my hands and arms in rubbing alcohol and then dish detergent. Then I showered. The next day the rash appeared on my arms. Welcome misery. Days later, new patches are still appearing. This is the worst rash I have had in many years. I know that a course of steroids will minimize it. But, I am on the fence whether to endure the rash or the side effects from the steroids. For now, I scrub it three times a day, put Caladryl on it, then bandage the worst arm to soak up the weeping of the sores. It looks hideous but at least it's not my face.