This week I got something back from my youth. No, not a flat stomach. Or a bi-level haircut.
I got poison ivy. Or specifically, a poison ivy rash.
I have no idea where I got it from. About a week ago, I woke up one morning with an itchy rash that started on my chin. Thinking it was hives, I figured it would go away by the end of the day. Then, the next morning it spread to my left arm. Then a couple days later, it was all over my waistline. I thought for sure I’m coming down with skin cancer.
So after scouring dozens of websites with skin rash photo galleries, I reluctantly made the appointment for the doctor after living with this mysterious skin rash for almost a week, and braced myself for the bad news she would deliver. Something like, “Hmmm…I’d like to send you to Dr. Specialist for some tests.” But no, she took one look, and quickly stated, “Oh, you’ve got poison ivy.”
I haven’t had poison ivy since about 1981. When I remember vividly being covered by a pink paste with socks over my hands. This time I was prescribed a steroid type of cream, and it has seemed to work better than the pink paste and socks. But talk about a trip down memory lane. I’d much rather be listening to old Blondie albums.