Bump, pus, rash, itch

It mimics a bug bite at first, a little red bump. It itches and grows, then swells hot and itches. Next, it cracks open and itches and – begging your forgiveness – oozes pus by the teaspoonful, still itching.

And it’s just getting started. Because next comes the splotchy, itchy rash on arms and legs and stomach, all pimply and ever so irritatingly, painfully, miserably itchy.

Poison ivy.

And it’s hell – for three weeks.

Itchy hell.

I’ve caught “the ivy” at least three times in recent years. Two years ago, after surviving hell the last time, I vowed “never again,” which of course really meant “once again,” because, yes, I found more ivy last month.

The scraggly, nondescript vine with only a handful of leaves clung to a tree in my yard. I didn’t pause or think. Just yanked it off. I’d donned gloves, fortunately. But I must have swiped the back of a leg, because: bump, pus, rash, itch.

“Yup, poison ivy,” the doc said. “Pay on the way out.”

So, with ivy, I’m gifted or cursed, blockhead or savant. Behold.