Hives.

Two near death experiences in one week.  I don't know if I can take it anymore.

I have hives.

Last night, I was sitting on the recliner in my living room.  I had my left leg underneath me.  And I was wearing red pants that have a little side zipper on the bottom part of the leg near the opening for your foot.  So a little bit before 9 pm, that area on my leg started bothering me.  I assumed it was because I was sitting on the zipper and it was digging into my skin.  I asked my father to politely pause So You Think You Can Dance so I could go put on sweatpants.

When I took off my pants and put on my sweatpants, that area of my leg started itching.  So I lifted my sweatpants leg and saw what looked like 7-10 bug bites.  Naturally I assumed there was either a) a bug in my pants or b) a bug in the blankets on the recliner I was sitting on.  So I threw the blankets on the ground and put the pants in a plastic bag quarantine.

I panicked.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?????  Meanwhile, my dad is sitting in his recliner laughing at me because all I can say over and over again is “I’M DYING.  I’M DYING.  THAT’S IT, I’M DYING.”

(If I don’t say this part of the story, he’ll never forgive me, so here goes:)  He correctly diagnosed me with having hives.  But I didn’t believe him.  I’M DYING, RIGHT???  So I sit in my recliner, dying, until my mom gets home from dinner with her friend.  The conversation went as follows:

(Mom walks in door)

Mom: Hello family!

Me: I’m dying.

Mom: What?

(still in recliner, dying) Me: I’m dying.

Dad: (laughing)

Mom: What’s wrong?

Me: Something bit me and now I’m dying.

(Mom comes over and looks at my leg)

Mom: That’s weird.

Me: It’s death.

Mom: You’re not dying.  It looks like bug bites.

Me: They’re very itchy.

Mom: Here’s a Benadryl.

Dad: What’s going to happen when you move to California and something like this happens and we’re 3000 miles away?

Me: I’m going to call you and say “I’m dying.”

So then I continue sitting in the chair for a while.  We watch some television.  Then I go upstairs and see that the “bites” began to spread.  All over the calf and shin of my left leg.  I panic again and run downstairs.

Me: THERE’S MORE I’M DYING.

Mom: Oh wow that’s a lot.  Maybe it’s hives.

Dad: I already said that.

Me: IT’S NOT HIVES IT’S DEATH.

Mom: Do you want to go to the hospital?

Me: YES.

Mom: Really?

Me: YES.

Mom: Well, let me just Google “hives.”

(Mom Googles “hives”)

Mom, reading: “Hives can form all over the body, including the arms, lips, tongue, face, and neck."

Me: IT DIDN’T SAY LEGS.

Mom: No, it said INCLUDING.

Me: BUT IT DIDN’T SAY LEGS. IT SAID ARMS. THEY’RE ON MY LEGS.

Dad: (laughing)

Mom: Lindsay, they’re hives I promise.  They’ll be gone tomorrow.  Do you still want to go the hospital?

Me, whimpering: Maybe not…

Mom: Here’s another Benadryl.

Me: They’re still itchy.

Mom: Let’s wrap your leg in this ice pack thing and then go to bed.

So my leg got wrapped in this giant ice pack thing and then I went to bed.

But when I woke up today, THERE WERE MORE.  ON BOTH LEGS.  AND MY ARMS.  EVERYWHERE, GUYS.  EVERYWHERE.

I went downstairs to tell my dad.

Me: There’s more.

Dad: Oh wow.  Call Mom.

(I call Mom; her coworker answers)

Coworker: Hello, Mom’s job.

Me: Hi is Mom there? It’s Lindsay.

Coworker: Hi Lindsay, she went next door.  Try her cell phone?

Me: Ok.

(I try Mom’s cell phone; it’s ringing)

Dad: What happened?

Me: Mom’s not there.

(Mom doesn’t answer her cell phone, as usual)

Me: She didn’t answer.

Dad: Ok.

(I try calling her again)

Me: Still no answer.

(I call back her coworker)

Coworker: She didn’t answer?

Me: Nope.

Coworker: I will get someone to find her.  How are you feeling?

Me: She told you about the hives?

Coworker: Yes how are they?

Me: EVERYWHERE.

Coworker: I’ll get your mom.

We hang up.  I sit patiently waiting (wander around the house trying to find my cat to console me) until she calls back.

Mom: Call the doctor.

Me: Ok.

Mom: Do you want me to call?

Me: I don’t know.

Mom: Put Dad on the phone.

(I give Dad the phone)

Dad: (grumbles on the phone, hangs up)

Me: Well?

Dad: I’m going to call the doctor.

He calls the doctor, and I have an appointment today at 1:30 pm.  I go upstairs to weep silently in my bedroom.

My mom comes home from work, which is conveniently 4 ½ minutes from my house.  She comes upstairs to my room.

(Mom knocks on my door)

Me: Don’t come in.

Mom: Why?

Me: My legs are ugly.

(she comes in anyway)

Mom: The doctor will fix this.  She will give you medicine and they will go away.

Me: Ok.

Mom: Maybe the Benadryl was old.

Me: (gives her a look)

Mom: I’m going to eat lunch, do you want something?

Me: I’m afraid to eat.

Mom: Don’t be afraid to eat.

She goes to eat lunch and I sit in my darkened bedroom, alone, contemplating whether I would rather peel off all of my skin from the bones or throw acid on my legs to get them to stop itching.  After lunch she comes back upstairs.

(Mom knocks again)

Me: DON’T COME IN.

Mom: Why?

Me: I’M UGLY.

Mom, coming in: You’re not ugly.  They will go away.

Me: They better.

Mom: I’m going back to work.

Me: Ok.

Mom: Bye.

Mom goes back to work.  I am still in my darkened bedroom, alone, awaiting my 1:30 pm death call.  I hope to see you all on the other side.

Also, here is a picture of my legs' current state so you can fully grasp how much death I am facing. 

 Warning, it is a lot of death.

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?