F*ck Fire Ants

Good Morning & Happy 2022!

It’s been a while, I know. But just like everybody else, with it being a new (hopefully less COVID-y) year, I feel inspired to be my best self and bring back my blog. 

You wanna know what’s wild? This blog has been around for almost a decade. It’s been around so long that when I started it, I never even imagined we’d see the day Sex & The City would actually RETURN to our screens with a reboot where they kill off Mr. Big on a Peloton. What a move. Anyone get a peloton for Christmas this year and immediately throw it out in case of bad juju?

Speaking of bad juju. I’m over it. Off the stuff. Not bringing any of that into 2022. With that being said, let me tell you the horror story of bad juju that I exited 2021 with. 

Home (Not So) Sweet Home

I flew home to the east coast in early December, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to spend five glorious weeks with my loved ones, taking a much needed break from the crazy fast-paced city that is Los Angeles.

However, this magical getaway quickly took a turn, as on my very first night, while hanging out in my christmas onesie with Elsie and Luffy (our family dogs) drinking some sav blanc and watching cheesy hallmark movies, I was attacked by an entire colony of fire ants. 

Yes.

An entire colony of fire ants that our precious Elsa and Luffy accidentally welcomed inside with open arms after disrupting their nest. Mind you, this attack happened on our couch.  Inside the house. 

If I’m not setting the horror movie scene clearly enough, let me repeat. The dogs carried  dangerous fire ants into the house, where they then decided to move their new home into our couch, ready to take me down on my very first night back home, when I was just trying to have a merry movie night alone. 

While it was happening, I had no idea. Honestly, I thought I was just having an allergic reaction to the onesie I was wearing. I was a little itchy, that’s all. Didn’t think much of it. Didn’t SEE any ants. And listen, I have pretty sensitive skin to begin with, so it wasn’t totally far-fetched that a fabric was irritating my skin. 

From my point of view at this point, my skin just felt a little irritated. Nothing crazy. I ignored it for a bit, until I eventually decided to change into new clothes when the itch persisted.

Sadly, that did nothing. And within about 2 hours, my entire body was covered in pimple-like welts that itched like crazy. To say I was absolutely horrified when I eventually saw what was going on under my clothes would be an understatement. I had no idea what fire ant bites even looked like at the time. A much happier time. 

Thinking some cortisone cream would kick whatever this was to the curb, I lathered it on generously and went to bed thinking the nightmare was over.

Sadly, when I still woke up, I had even more bites. And the older ones now looked way worse. FYI my top bite count was 107. ONE HUNDRED SEVEN BITES ON MY BODY. Still not over it, clearly.

I scheduled two doctor appointments immediately for the following day, one for my primary care doctor and the other for my dermatologist, Karla. And in case you were wondering, yes. Karla and I are on a first name basis at this point.

On this doctor fun filled Monday, I had the luxury of stripping down into my underwear for 6 different doctors as they examined my entire chicken pox spotted looking body. First, there was my primary care doctor. Who, by the way, wasn’t even my real primary care doctor because of how last minute the appointment was made.

But I didn’t care, I was desperate. I would’ve stripped down for basically anyone with a PHD at that point. Or even someone who considered themselves outdoorsy and knew literally anything about bug bites. Did I mention I had 107 mysterious bumps on my body?!

Now you may be asking yourself about the extra 4 doctors from my next appointment. Well, the rest of them were, what I imagine to be, the entire floor of the dermatologist’s office, who were legitimately hovering over me and my mysterious welts in excitement, as if I was their wordle for the day that they were super eager to guess right first.

*Worth mentioning one of the little bitch ants bit my left breast, which I also had to flash all 6 doctors in a day.

After 30 minutes of laying vulnerable on a table, with 10 eyes on my bumpy body looking absolutely perplexed, trying to diagnose whatever weird situation was happening on my skin post ant attack, I ended up leaving with more questions than answers, as well as a prednisone prescription I refused to take due to the horror story side effects I later googled and my stubborn nature.

In my defense, they didn’t know what it was! Some looked like bites, some didn’t. And I was not about to become an insomniac moonface for the next few weeks if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. 

But the bumps got worse. Even after an exterminator came, even after we got an entirely new couch. They. just. kept. appearing.

Which had me convinced I was either:

A. now being invaded in the middle of the night. (I did see research that fire ants don’t take well to newcomers, so maybe they sensed I didn’t actually live there and decided to brutally punish me for it until I left their new digs)

OR

B. There is another pest that I’m unaware of, which made my anxiety go a bit bizerk. 

This is when I fell down the super fun, “Oh FUCK, Do we have bed bugs?” hole. Which, by the way, is basically the ONLY answer google comes up with when you search “why am I waking up with bumps on my body.”

So naturally, I deep cleaned every single inch of the room I was staying in, bagged every belonging I had, and called every highly recommended exterminator in my parents’ neighborhood. 

And so the exterminator came, checked every bed, and nothing. Based on the information I gave him, he didn’t think it was bed bugs. But clearly he wasn’t getting the same info my anxiety and google were giving me.

So at this point, I had become a full fledged crazy person. I just started sleeping on chairs and couches downstairs, where I barely slept through the night. I was sleeping basically everywhere and anywhere that wasn’t the bed upstairs. Sometimes I’d wake up with new bumps, other times I would not. 

I don’t even know what was helping and what wasn’t, but being on the move felt like the best move. And probably the most unhinged, but listen, I was very sleep deprived and itchy as all hell. It had been weeks and no treatment seemed to be working.

So finally, I went back to the doctor and got a biopsy.

And just like that, (lol) after almost a month of this mystery, sleepless nights, and lots of talks with different exterminators (who for sure thought I was insane), I found out what had really been going on. I was having an allergic reaction to ant bites. So new bumps were appearing, but they weren’t new bites. They were because of my “hyper immune response” to the bites. My body was freaking out just as much as I was. 

So yes, this isn’t a dating story, but it is a cautionary tale. Don’t fuck with fire ants. And also, stop googling medical stuff you have no clue about. 

Anyways, I’m back! Hope you enjoyed my little story. Catch you next time!

xoxo,

Renee