Rocky Mountain Me

**note to Travis** Close your eyes. Approaching pic of icky long-legged creepy crawly thing.

So. There I was....getting ready to take a long nap one day last week, freshly shampooed, snuggled in a robe and wondering....what IS that itchy blurb on my shoulder? Maybe I should check this out before I snooze. There! It looks like a bite. And it itches. I turned to look in the double mirror to check my back for other signs of trouble when zowie wowie ohhh mmy my! I saw this

(isn't it lovely?)

stuck to the back of my left arm. Stuck. Like glue. To the Queen's pale skin. OH MY LORRDDDD!!!!

The nerve.

Now. Those of you who know me well know that I am scared of little (except rodents) and that I love love love love to wander in Bloggingham Forest and commune with the trees and the bugs and the leaves and sit on the ground and pick branches and pine cones and dig in the dirt. And that's just what I'd been doing when this wonderfully dangerous tick creature decided to piggyback home on my arm.

See? Holding up a tree with my bare hands several days before the onslaught of disaster.

I do not have a lick 'o sense.

So, after a very fast drive to the doctor to remooooove that which I couldn't reach and realizing that yes, I had been feeling unusually tired and achy with a low-grade fever for a couple of days and perhaps it really wasn't a harmless virus, I hear "We're treating you for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever just in case."

Every Queen wants to hear that.

The just-in-case diagnosis was short-lived when several hours later my royal flesh began to accumulate little red dots - like paint driplets - all  over said feet and ankles. 
I had the dreaded fever.

Only me.

After a short hospital stay (complicated by the fact that I am allergic to Doxycycline THE treatment for RMSF) we have a long story that I'll make short. I'm better, less spotted, not so benadryl-looped anymore and thankful for antibiotics and nurses who know how to use needles. And wondering....what else is going to befall me this spring? A friend said she thinks I should be a Pharaoh instead of a Queen, given the endless slew of plagues I seem to fall into.

I think not.

Pharaohs never got the good roles. If I'm gonna be a royal mess on wheels I'd just as soon play Cleopatra. At least she can wear lipstick in her delirium.

The moral of this story is simple. If you're gonna go frolicking through the woods on a spring day full of unseen bugs, put on a hat and spray thyself with insect repellent. 

And wear an asp on your head.

*images: MLenox or public domain

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4 I promise. No bugs.