My neighbor had told me
about the yellow jacket nest at the edge of our properties. She’s deathly
afraid of stinging insects and said she’d never go near it. I assured her that
I would take care of it…they don’t scare me. I even related the story about the
wasp nest in the raspberries of the neighbor across the street. The old
gentleman who lived there then had been a welder, and when I showed up after
dark in my tank top, shorts and sandals, he was waiting clad in all his welding
gear. He held the flashlight while I used clippers to snip the raspberry cane
just above the wasp nest and it fell into the waiting garbage bag which he
quickly twisted closed. I still chuckle about our individual expectations with
regard to those wasps after dark.
As of yesterday afternoon,
I hadn’t done anything about the yellow jacket nest. It was still there and
apparently, even though I was merely raking the leaves beneath the
rhododendron, they took exception to my removing the leaves above their nest.
They began to fly about and fret, but I ignored them and continued with my
raking. I guess they didn’t like that either, or at least one of them didn’t,
because I felt a sharp sting through my glove. I yanked my glove off, didn’t
see a stinger or anything like that and sucked hard on the stinging area. This
didn’t help much at all.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t
just stop and walk away (well, I could have, but chose not to). I had to put my
tools away, move the yard waste container to its proper location and close up
the garage before I could go inside. By then, the sensation in the area between
my thumb and first finger on the top of my hand had gone from stinging to
painful. I wanted my husband’s bite relief pen. I rummaged through his lunchbox
and desk (something I never do) before I finally woke him up to ask where it
was. Should have been there he responded. Later, when he got up, he emptied out
his lunchbox and couldn’t find it. This morning when he put everything back,
there it was. Once again, my belief that items go to another dimension for a
time is sustained.
Then, I tried to remember
what my mother did when I was a kid. That’s the only time I can remember ever
being stung which is probably why the idea of getting stung didn’t carry much
weight. Besides “mommy-care” baking soda, meat tenderizer, ice all sort of came
to mind so I gave them a try. Nothing seemed to work and I found myself wishing
my mother were there to take care of me.
Now, that may seem a
little silly, especially at my age, but it would have felt so good to have her tend
my owie. Even more than that, I know if she could have treated me and then held me while I cried
and felt sorry for my poor yellow jacket-stung self, she would have made it all
better.
My mom’s been gone for
more than 16 years now, and she surely didn’t provide much in the way of “mommy-care”
for many years before her death because I wasn’t in need (or didn’t think I
was). Still, I always knew that no matter how much something hurt (or felt good
for that matter), she was always there to make it all better (or celebrate). I
was rather amazed at how strongly I wanted her with me yesterday and how
positive I was that she would have made it all better.
Instead, the sting
continued to hurt for the rest of the afternoon and all evening until I went to
sleep. This morning, before my eyes were even open, my hand itched so badly, I
wanted to use a wire brush on it. The application of the bite sting stuff once
it reappeared hasn’t helped much. It still
itches like crazy, but I’ve become sure of two things…(1) I won’t be so dismissive
and glib about future stinging insect encounters, and (2) I’m sure mommy would,
indeed, have made it oh so much better much sooner.
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