I think I mentioned a while ago that I am highly allergic to fire ants. How allergic? When bitten, I turn into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and not even Dan Aykroyd can stop me then.
I was at the doctor's office earlier this week, and I happened to mention all of this to him. Now, I'm no doctor; I'm not even a podiatrist's assistant. Lots of people swell up and get itchy after getting bitten, so I just thought I had a particularly severe case of a common problem. Here, the doctor schooled me. He said that to avoid potential death (seriously), I need a fire ant response plan (also seriously).
My response plan has three steps. First, avoid fire ants. Second, if I can't avoid fire ants and I happen to get bitten, I need to inject myself in the thigh with a shot of adrenaline. Third, go to the hospital. If I'm too far away to make a hospital, I need to inject myself with a second shot of adrenaline in the thigh.
My response to all of this can be summed up in two words: holy crap. I was not ready for that conversation to get that intense that quickly. In roughly 30 seconds, I went from cracking jokes about fire ants to having to carry around two injections of adrenaline forever. The lesson? Never tell your doctor anything.
I actually don't think this is too much of a problem, since I've only gotten into fire ants twice in the past ten years. And on the bright side, I can now carry these injections with me all the time. They could be handy. If I see someone overdosing on heroin, I'll bring them back to life, just like in Pulp Fiction. If anyone tries to mug me, I'll just whip the shots out and claim I'm carrying a government super virus. And when the fire ants do come for me, I'll be ready to administer some needle justice.
Posted by Cody at January 22, 2008 8:17 PM