Stung!

As some of you may already know, I kind of had a rough Labor Day. (Mildly rough, of course. It could have been a lot worse.)

It all started when I wanted to clean up the brush in my back yard so I could mow the lawn, which, by the way, I've never done unsupervised before. I forgot that there was a hole near the back fence that housed a swarm of yellow jackets. (Swarm? Herd? Family? Pride? Gaggle? I don't know what a group of bees is collectively called.) I evidently stepped on said hole because as I was gathering brush and remarking to myself that I really needed to do something to get rid of them (you know, for the dog's protection), one decided to attach itself to my face.

There may have ended up being more of them to come after me, but, unbeknownst to me at the time, I probably protected myself by running across the yard screaming like a wild woman. (Yeah, that's why I did it.) I'm surprised the neighbors didn't come running out of their houses to see what was the matter. (In fact, it kind of bothers me that they didn't. I mean, what if I'd really been in trouble?)

About the time I hit the carport, the little striped sucker let go to live out his final seconds elsewhere. (Haha! Doesn't it almost make you feel better to know that after they sting you, they die? Die, bee, die!) I'm allergic to bee stings and the last time I was stung as a kid, I had a pretty bad reaction, which included major swelling. Considering this sting was on my face, you can imagine my dismay.

The first thing I did was call my boyfriend. Our conversation consisted of (paraphrased):

Me: Yi...bee...lergic...face...bee...hurts...sting...lergic...swell... (Those were the words in between the sobs.)
Him: I don't know what's wrong. I can't understand you.
Me: Bee...hurt...ow...yi...you...face...sting...
Him: I still can't understand you. What do I need to do?
Me: You...yi...bee...hurt...mom. (click)

So then I called my mom. I gave her pretty much the same explanation.

Me: Yi...bee...hurt...swell...yard...ow...
Her: You got stung by a bee?
Me: You...bee...sting...owie...yi...
Her: You need to go to urgent care and get a shot. I'll meet you there.

Seriously, my mom could be like a dog whisperer or something. How she translated that, I don't know. I guess that's one of those things that moms are good at. I know mine is pretty amazing.

After I'd started speaking plain English, I talked to my boyfriend again and he helped me calm down a bit. He told me he was going to kill those bees. (Because, you know, that's their instinct. You don't want to know what my dad did when I was attacked by a dog as a kid.) He came over and babied me a bit after I got home from the doctor until the Benedryl knocked me out. He's pretty amazing, too.

So I'm doing pretty well today after a gazillion hours of sleep, although I still have a welt on my face. I'm just thankful for the wonderful people God has put in my life to help me when those times come. In everything from bee stings to major life changes, I've got people to talk me through it, give me sage advice, encourage me, and just be there to listen or to hold me if that's all I need.

Thanks.

"I thank my God every time I remember you." - Phillippians 1:3