Living Each Moment

I was working out in the yard this week, planting, watering, cleaning, etc, then finally succumbed to the heat and came inside for a while to work on the computer. I'd been inside for half an hour or so when I thought I felt something on the back of my neck. Without thinking I just swiped my hand across my neck, felt something fuzzy, and then a penetrating pain. Jerking it back, I discovered a stinger in my finger, thrust deep like Christopher Columbus jabbing the flag into the beach when he landed and claimed the country. I could hardly believe it - I was inside, and had been for some time. Where the heck did a bee come from!? Must have hitched in on my clothes or something. Since I'm pretty severely allergic to bees, I had to act quick. First order of business, getting that stinger out. Luckily tweezers only too a few moments to find. I was tempted to try to use my fingers, but thought I remembered hearing stories about not getting the whole thing out, so wanted to do it right. Then running the throbbing finger under cold water, getting a benadryl down me, and getting the site iced. I haven't been stung in many years, even though I like to "pet" bees - something my dad taught me when I was little - but I remembered one of the last times I was stung I had quite the reaction. That one was on my arm, which quickly became swollen to about 3/4 of an inch high, and in a large oval of 7 to 8 inches in length. Yeah, that wasn't happy. Didn't want that to happen again. I don't know if it was the quick response or the two years of allergy shots I had while in school, but I came through this relatively unscathed. Numb from the ice, and a bit swollen and stiff in the joint (no typing for a little while), but yeah, pretty okay. I snagged a macro shot of the dagger he'd plunged into me. Never did find the bee though. For a while I had this image of a stingerless bee coming to haunt my dreams with cries of "What've ye done with me stinger!!!" - kind of like camp stories of the hook man popping up in the back of your car. I wonder if I'll ever find my fuzzy assailant, or if his sting will be the only remembrance of my brush with a nasty allergic reaction.