{Izzy in happier days...}
Dear reader, last Friday I brought the girls home from school and curled up on the couch, looking forward to a nice, relaxing, weekend afternoon. A blood-curdling shriek from above informed me there would be nothing of the sort.
It wasn't the type of scream one would associate with a row between sisters.
No. Somehow, I already knew this was about a scorpion.
I ran upstairs to find my little Izzy, sobbing and writhing on the floor.
I tried to get some information: Was it a scorpion? Where did it sting her? Where did it happen? But my daughter was rocking back and forth, gasping, unable to collect herself in the midst of radiating pain.
Since my medical background is culled mainly from the movies, I knew hysteria is usually treated in one of two ways: with a slap to the face or a dousing of cold water. I knew I had to calm Izzy down, but hitting her after she had just been stung by a scorpion? That seemed a bit rash. And dousing her in cold water? Well, if this was a film starring Bette Davis, by all means. But I'm just a simple Canadian farmgirl whose most dramatic moment in life was never getting asked to prom. I would have looked so fake doing it.
So I went with my third option, an idea that lit up my brain like a faulty strand of Christmas lights: use a bad word.
It worked.
Unfortunately, it also worked on behalf of my two other daughters, who happened to be standing there as well. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at me, slack-jawed, and I realized I had way overshot my mark, that I should have saved that word for the Apocalypse, the extinction of chocolate, or never fitting anything at J. Crew.
At any rate, I got Izzy to lay down and tell me where she'd encountered the scorpion. Turns out she'd kneeled on it as she was rummaging through a pile of clothing on her closet floor. I looked at her closet and sighed. It was indeed strewn with clothing, but poor housekeeping was hardly the only culprit in this ship of fools. Our flooring is a cowardly tasteful beige, which happens to be the perfect camouflage for shady types like the bark scorpion. If I could do it again, dear reader, believe me: this house would be outfitted wall-to-wall in electric teal shag.
And I knew I had to go in after that thing. Trust me, I was less motivated by payback than from drawing upon my expertise acquired through the Jaws trilogy, wherein radar sensitive grudge-bearing and the innate malice of the animal kingdom was irrefutably exposed. It was one of those kill or be killed scenarios, and I knew I was kidding myself to consider it anything less.
I gingerly lifted a t-shirt from the floor. A pair of jeans. A sock.
"There it is!!!," screamed all three girls at once.
The scorpion came scuttling across the floor with the obvious intent to sever our connection to the rest of the house and terrorize us with scary theme music for the next 120 minutes, or however long movies last these days.
But I tell you, dear reader, this time I didn't mess around. This time I didn't wring my hands and wait for the scorpion to don a hockey mask and slash us to bits. I killed it fast. I killed it hard. In fact, I will probably have to get a bionic knee to make up for the shock absorption from that one resounding stomp.
Then Caroline appeared at my side with a little jar we reserve for catching ladybugs. "Here, Mum, we can keep him in this," she said, crouching down beside me,"It has holes in the lid for air."
"Caroline, how is air going to help him now?" asked Sophie, rolling her eyes like any self-respecting tween.
Dear reader, I'm going to skip the next little bit, since there is nothing funny about watching one's child suffer. It reminded me of a show I once saw on television many years ago. I think it was Star Trek, and in this particular episode an alien had kidnapped two crew members from the ship. The alien was conducting experiments on human behavior and he isolated the man and the woman (who were involved in a clandestine romance) in two separate pods with the edict he was about to drain their environments of oxygen. Each pod came equipped with a red button which would allow the captive, if he/she so chose, to send their air supply to the opposite chamber, thereby saving the life of the other person at the expense of his/her own.
So the grueling trial began. I watched in agony as the two captive humans gasped and writhed, making these big moony eyes at each other through the glass. I mean, I had to hand it to them--they really had me going. Meanwhile, the alien was sitting back like some smug goon, applauding himself for revealing the innate selfishness of the human race. But at the last moment, just when you thought it wasn't possible for the captives to clutch their throats, contort, and mime the words I love you one more time, what do you think happened?
They pushed the red button. Simultaneously.
And then the alien scrapped years of research and saved them both, because apparently even he was not immune to the power of over-acting.
Anyway, that's kind of how I felt, watching Izzy suffer. I would have given anything to trade places with her, to take away her pain and bear it myself.
Only let me assure you: I wouldn't have waited for the last moment, when our lungs were practically ready to burst. I would've marched into that pod and punched the red button before the alien even had a chance to get the experiment going. Then I'd kicked my way back out and lay down a beating that made him see stars, leaving him with the distinct impression of all human beings to avoid abducting, Canadian farmgirls were public enemy #1.
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In the event you happen to be a local reader and are wondering how we dealt with the situation (though please do not treat this as blanket advice), here is what an ER doctor told me over the phone:
1. Wash the sting area with soap and water to eliminate any residue poison.
2. Apply a cool compress to the sting.
3. Treat the victim with appropriate doses of ibuprofen or acetaminophen for local pain.
4. A proper dose of Benadryl may also be used to help the victim relax (it contains diphenhydramine, which has sedative side effects).
The doctor informed me there is presently no antivenom treatment available for such stings. Hospitals will generally treat these cases with pain medication and possible sedation (especially in the case of small children) until the effects of the poison wear off.
His advice was to monitor Izzy carefully to see how the sting affected her...it usually takes a few hours for the poison to have its total effect. Some people are more susceptible to the poison than others, so reactions will differ according to the individual. If the victim begins to shake uncontrollably and/or experience unendurable pain and muscle cramping throughout the body (especially into the face and head area), then please follow your intuition in pursuing further medical treatment.
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As you may imagine, the next day we had an exterminator to the house.
And my husband purchased a black light (bark scorpions glow in the dark) and has completed a few tours of duty around the yard.
The very next evening, I took Izzy out for some special time together and in the course of our adventure, we had a conversation that went like this:
Me: Honey, I'm sorry I used such a bad word when you got stung by the scorpion yesterday. It's just that you were so upset and I had to find a way to get your attention and help you to calm down.
{Pause}
Izzy (looking at me with wide eyes): Mum, I don't remember anything about that moment. It all feels like a blur to me now.
Me: Really?
Izzy: Yeah.
Me: Well...
{Another pause}
Izzy: What did you say?
Me: Nothing. Forget about it. Let's just forget I said anything at all.