Yes, I saw him come in the door. I think it was a he because he packed so much punch. Then again, considering the venom … Ha, ha. Anyway, it was a fly. It looked like a routine, run of the mill, fly. Maybe a tad bit more robust than usual. And a bit of a rogue as it turns out. However, not charming, this robusto.
So, I’m minding my own business. Shirt off, my mistake, at the computer. All of a sudden, this rogue riverine robusto takes a giant Amazonian bite out of my back and then has the audacity to do it again. I yell out more in surprise than anything, “What the hell was that?”
Well, I will never really know because in the most heroic telling of this tragic incident, my cat cornered the thing, battled it, chased it down after it escaped from the cornering, caught it, and ate it. That was the last I saw of this offender. This may have happened an hour later for all I know. The import of the exact sequence of events not being evident until the next day when we have “Part Deux: What the hell is that?”
“Part Deux: What the hell is that?” begins with my feeling a giant lump on my back the next day and looking in the mirror to see a silver dollar-sized red lump where the critter got me. This thing then morphs out into a irregular-shaped, somewhat bigger than a silver dollar, topographical anomaly, with a few more red bumps and, alarmingly, some red lines streaming out from it. I am dead for sure. So off to the all-knowing internet I go for bug bite research, advice and, even more disturbing, pictures. After reading all about it, and leering at the lurid spectacle of the internet bug bite photos, the conclusion is that I should wait it out. It will reach its unsavory zenith in 48 hours and I should be OK. Cue the psychosomatic symptoms, illnesses, and parasitic infestations.
What is that on me? Another bug? My arm is paralyzed. My throat is sore. Why are my lips chapped? I don’t feel good. The thing is sore and it also itches. The skin on one of my feet is painful. It seems like its more sore with contact like from laying on the couch or wearing a tee shirt. I’d like to scratch it, but at least this is one area in which I restrained myself. Looking at it in the mirror, back to the mirror and using another mirror, is not making it go away. Mirror, mirror, this is getting complicated. The 48 hours has stretched into four days and it isn’t any better. But at least it is not worse. It is about the same. Like a UFO hovering over me for days, I’m getting a tad bit anxious. I have watched too many weird reality TV shows about parasites and seen too many gross horror movie commercials leaving me totally skeeving out on invasive, blood-sucking, tentacles. I just hope the thing didn’t lay a bunch of eggs in me or blow a bunch of bad ju-ju juice inside me.
Finally, after about a week, the thing starts getting smaller and less inflamed. The more prominent thing was then the actual point of attack which was a small, bright red, puncture mark. I talked to a doctor about this whole thing initially and he thought it would go away. No big drama. Two weeks later I can still feel it and see it. It is now about the size of a quarter and is a telltale, fading red. I think I’ll be OK. Turns out, the worst of the damage is psychological. Its all in the mind.
I’m not letting any more rogue riverine robustos in my door again if I can help it. Charming or not, its not worth the head games.