Boyfriend stepped on a nail two days before we left to go backpacking.
It wasn't deep, and it wasn't messing up his walking, but was worried he would get lockjaw or something. I had just written about how my booster shot was totally overdue, so the night before we left, we headed over to Walgreens so we could get immunized.
I glanced at the factoid sheet about the shot while the nurse practitioner chatted. She upsold us on the idea that we should get the pertussis vaccination at the same time. It's something "they" added to the booster shots several years ago, and "they" want you do do it once as an adult.**
Boyfriend was a little worried about the addition to a tried and true booster shot, but relented when I said I would get the pertussis one with the others under the "might as well" flag. Who knew how long it would be before I decided to do this again?
Boyfriend went first, and it was a done deal remarkably fast. While the nurse alcohol swabbed my arm, he started really reading the factoid sheet. I had seen the information about the possible moderate and severe side effects, but hadn't bothered reading carefully.
"One in four adults who receive this shot will experience sleepiness," he read.
The nurse stuck a needle in me and I fought to not cry like a little baby. I was startled by how much it hurt, but tried to be a grown up. "Huh," I said.
"One in five will get nausea."
"We're going backpacking tomorrow," I said to the nurse, "If we get one of these side effects, it would be before we left, right?"
"You'll be fine," she said. Thank you for not answering my question, lady.
I looked at the fact sheet while she Band Aid-ed my arm. Nausea. Diarrhea. Also, my arm felt like someone punched me really hard.
Just what I wanted on a backpacking trip.
|Luckily, we were living in the lap of luxury, and this toilet was only about a 40 minute walk away, uphill and through snow. It even has three walls! THREE!|
Stings and Tattoos:
I started feeling a little sick on the second day of our trip. I didn't know if it was something I ate, allergies, elevation, dehydration, or what, but I was a bit woozy. It occurred to me that I was feeling some side effects from the shot because I was also super-duper tired.
It was also possible that I was about to die of hypochondria.
I decided to take a little nap under a tree near the tent, sort of in our "dining area", hoping that some rest would make me feel better.
I dozed for a few minutes, but woke up again when the sun went behind a cloud and the temperature dropped a few degrees.
Boyfriend came over to check up on me, and in the middle of a sentence, reached out to brush a mosquito off my forehead. It exploded with my blood. That little asshole was EATING ME.
Mosquitoes love me for some reason. It's like they take a sip and they're all, "Hey bitch, you taste good. Gimme some more of that shit!"
Either I'm just hot (temperature wise) or there is so much sugar in my blood that they just CAN'T FRICKIN' RESIST me. Serious. Medical science will figure it out one day.
I had been bitten several times that day even with the Skintastic with DEET I'd been spraying on myself, but I am use to it so it was almost tolerable.
Frustrated, cranky, and still tired, and now bit on the forehead, I decided to go lay down in the tent for a bit. The bite was aching, though, so I decided to see how bad the mosquito bite really was, and took a self portrait.
|Am I sexy now?|
Yeah, I should never have looked.
I curled up into a little ball among the sleeping bags and passed out for about an hour.
When I got up again, I decided to pull out the big guns.
100 percent DEET.
Frickin' JUNGLE JUICE.
This stuff did seem to work. Either that, or the fumes made me so high that I didn't notice anymore. Either way, WIN!
That night I had a dream that I joined a secret society and this lady tattooed my forehead in her kitchen. It was a ridiculous looking six-shooter and some bullets that had wings.
Thanks, brain, I needed that.
**I have no idea who "they" are, but the nurse practitioner kept talking about "them" and "they" and I was a little afraid of asking.