We have to start about a month or so ago, when--overnight, as best I can recall--large, angry, red bumps appeared on both boys' legs. I instantly jumped to the (logical) conclusion that something had bitten them--we assumed spider---while they were playing together in the front yard or on the school field that they tend to frequent for their pickup games. It just so happened that Riley's yearly well-visit with his pediatrician was scheduled for soon after that, so we asked the doctor about it while we were there. After inspecting the area, Dr. W diagnosed a minor skin infection called cellulitis, prescribed a topical antibiotic, and moved on to other matters. That seemed to be the end of it, since Riley diligently followed instructions in applying the cream--which in turn did its job and cleared up the problem.
In contrast, Derek's...battle wound...didn't seem to be improving...at ALL. Even when Husband and I advised him to start borrowing Riley's medicine, the spot remained large, scaly, inflamed, and crimson. (Hey, I told you it wouldn't be pretty, didn't I? Hang on, it gets much, much worse...) Oh, and did I forget to mention that it oozed? (Yeah, it was pretty grotesque, I'm not gonna lie.) Finally, (this past Thursday, to be exact) I'd had enough of this nonsense, and informed Derek that I was dragging him to the doctor for an expert opinion. He grumbled about it not being necessary, of course, and we had to negotiate the best time for me to take him away from his classes so he didn't miss anything too important, but I stood my ground and made the appointment.
That's how we found ourselves at the physician's office on Friday afternoon, for Dr. W to have a look-see at Derek's calf. Now, I feel I should insert just a little bit of background, here, and tell you that in the time we've been acquainted with him, Dr. W has always come across as a quiet, soft-spoken, laid-back guy. This occasion was no different, as he peered intently at Derek's leg and did some poking and prodding, while simultaneously asking questions about the symptoms and whatnot. It was all done in his usual calm and methodical manner...until I sensed a...shift....in his demeanor. It was verrrry subtle, but his expression altered just a fraction...and I couldn't immediately ascertain what it meant. His probing seemed to become more purposeful, and I got the impression that he was trying to camouflage something from showing on his face--but I wasn't sure whether it was concern...or excitement.
Right about then, he abruptly exclaimed--but still in his professional, soothing, "nothing to get alarmed about" voice--"There's something in there--do you see it?" Startled despite his best attempt to...probably prevent parental freak-out, I squeaked, "WHAT? WHERE?" It didn't even occur to me that both of us were completely ignoring Derek at this point--you know, the one whose body was supposedly harboring an alien life form? Nah, we were 100% focused on trying to catch a glimpse of the...creature--though to be honest, without a magnifying glass, I wasn't able to actually lay eyes on what had gotten Dr. W so hyped. But trust me, I was content to take his word for it. Now, I realized that the widened eyes and newly-animated tone to his voice meant that the good doctor was...kind of like the proverbial "kid in a candy store" in terms of how much he was thrilled by this...experience. (I'm not kidding--had he been a more demonstrative man, I truly thought he might jump up and down with glee...)
Satisfied with his investigation, Dr. W stood up and formulated a plan of attack...which initially consisted of consulting with a dermatologist, to figure out how the HECK to...extract this unwelcome guest from my child. He excused himself from the room...leaving Derek and me to our shell-shocked selves. In my mind, the conversation that ensued will go down as one of the most memorable in the annals of WestEnders lore, as I first asked my beloved offspring, "REALLY, Derek? Between your brother's traumatic seashell encounter and your exotic...bug infestation...could you possibly invent any more ridiculous ways to get injured?" To which he snorted and replied, "Yeah, you're welcome." Then he became more serious and wondered, "Oh, jeez, what should I tell people when they ask why I wasn't in school this afternoon?" Which led both of us to the realization that he absolutely had to relay the true story to at least one person--someone who would most appreciate the gory details: his former AP Biology teacher, who used to enthusiastically share with his students his own history of medical misfortunes from his time as a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa.
But the whole thing came entirely off the rails when in the midst of discussing the whole...situation...a crazy thought occurred to me: "Hey, do you think we can take it HOME with us?" Luckily Dr. W prevented Derek's response to this, when he returned with an update: "Well, the dermatologist has never seen one of these, either, so he said for me to just go ahead and remove it." Um...yippee? On the plus side, they'd been able to identify what, exactly, we were dealing with--a botfly larvae. (I'll pause here for a second so we can all go...EWWWWWWW. Seriously, don't think too much about it, just plow ahead with me...) You see, I had reminded Dr. W that the fam had traveled to Belize on vacation this year, which had helpfully led him to determine that Derek had picked up his...hitchhiker...in the rainforest. (And can I just say...Holy horror movie, Batman...Worst. Souvenir. E-V-E-R.)
But Dr. W had decided how to proceed by now, so he continued to explain, still in that reassuring way of his, "First I'll inject a numbing agent around the site, and wait a few minutes for it to take effect. Then I might have to make a small incision to widen the hole so I can get to the larvae. Finally, I'll use...whatever tool is necessary....to get it out of there." He finished with an apologetic, "I might have to dig a little. I can't say it's going to be...pleasant." Perhaps realizing that this wasn't terribly good news, he hastened to add brightly, "But when I'm done, it'll be gone!"
Oh. My. Goodness. Well, there was nothing to do but get on with it, right? (Yeah, easy for ME to say, sitting comfortably in a nearby chair...invader-free...and not "just about to go under the knife"... sympathetic shudder...) As Dr. W readied the needle, Derek only had one preliminary query: "Am I allowed to say bad words?" All of us in the room unanimously agreed that, "You can let fly with whatever you need to, buddy." (Oh, also, we'd now been joined by the nurse who'd initially checked us in and taken Derek's vitals, as well as another physician we hadn't me before, who was just observing, to satisfy her own curiosity. Yep, it had become quite the circus side show, my friends...)
Without further ado, Dr. W began the (ironic) process of systematically jabbing the sharp object into Derek's flesh, to deliver the pain-blocking serum--an activity that looked about as delightful as it sounds. To his credit, while Derek winced, sucked in his breath, and let out a heartfelt, "OWWWW!" he did not burn anyone's ears with stronger language. And then, it happened. On the third stab, Dr. W said, "Ooh, it doesn't LIKE that! Here it comes!" I swear, people, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie--a picture popped up in my head of a flat desert landscape, with a...worm-like organism...rising up out of it. Except, you know, it was my kid's hairy calf. And a freakin' subtropical parasite. Yes, we can all take a moment here....aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!
Okay, deep breath....Dr. W was totally ready for it; he coolly grabbed the tweezers he had conveniently placed within arm's reach, gently but firmly grasped the...creepy crawly critter...and pulled it free of its host--um "my poor son". Then he plopped it into a specimen dish--for photography purposes, OF COURSE--and voila! Successful outpatient...larvae...ectomy completed! Now the only items that remained to be addressed were: dabbing the spot with Neosporin and covering it with a bandage; phoning in a prescription for an oral antibiotic...just to ensure there were no unforeseen side-effects down the road, from having harbored a parasitic Central American species for oh, approximately SIX WEEKS; and touching base one more time with the dermatologist to see if they wanted to keep the actual bug, or whether the pictures would suffice...in which case, it could be ours. (Like some kind of twisted version of a...lovely parting gift? But see, I told you we'd get to walk out of there with it!)
After that, Derek and I gathered our wits--and our botfly larvae (who I think really needs a name at this point. I'm open to suggestions...) and headed home. Timing-wise, there was no point in returning him to school by now...not that he could probably have concentrated, anyway. However, Dr. W had been definite that there was no reason to stay away from work that evening...so believe it or not, Derek took his shift at Subway, as scheduled. I, meanwhile, relished my upcoming responsibility...to astound...and nauseate...Husband, with the extended version of...Derek's Infestation, 2017. Ha!
Whew! It was an utterly exhausting afternoon and, as Derek succinctly put it, "Soooooo NOT how I expected my Friday to go!" As we did our best to process all the...hoopla...I attempted to impose a philosophical overtone to the event. "Just think," I began, "We're so fortunate that we get to visit these awesome, unique places....and sometimes, I suppose, there can be dangers associated with that. But remember the snorkeling, and the waterfalls, and..." But Derek was having NONE of it. He cut me off with a vehement, "NOPE! Never. Leaving. The country. Again!"
Siiiiighhhhhhh. FINE, be that way...ooh, hold on...next year's idea is to take an Alaskan cruise! It's technically still the U.S.--what could possibly go wrong? (And I mean it, no one had better dare to suggest, "One of you could get eaten by a bear,"!) For now, let's take a nice looooong time to recover...say, until the saga begins to fall more into the category of "Wow, that's kind of...legendary, really " than "Aww, you must be forever-scarred!" I predict we'll be totally back to normal by, oh, let's say travel time next Summer (fingers crossed)!
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