Attack of the Mexican Bee
by Rease Kirchner
You know that kid in your class that got nose bleeds for no reason? The one who seemed to be allergic to almost everything and often came to school with weird, swollen lumps? Yeah, that was me.
Now, I don’t suffer from the usual stuff like pollen or mold. No, all my allergies are skin related, which means I cannot suffer quietly with a box of tissues and watery eyes. My allergic reactions are on display for the world to see. This is something I have dealt with my whole life. I cannot say I don’t occasionally get embarrassed when I have to explain a swollen patch of red bumps on my face by saying “Oh, I touched a plant near water” , but I always thought I was lucky to not have life-threatening reactions. My luck ran out in Mexico.
Once Upon a Time in Guadalajara…
I was hanging out in a beach town called Barra de Navidad with my then-boyfriend. We were enjoying a break from the busy streets of Guadalajara with a week long getaway in a slow moving beach town. It was our last day and we had every intention of just soaking up the sun, lounging on the sand, eating fresh fruit and drinking alcoholic beverages out of pineapples. This plan was ruined by a freaking bee.
The Yellow and Black Bastard
We had just returned from the beach and were getting dressed to go out for dinner when I spotted the yellow and black bastard chilling out on my boyfriend’s shoulder. At the time, I had no real fear of bees. I had been stung by American bees many times and they were actually one of the few insects I did not remember having allergic reactions to. I calmly said “Hey, look out, there’s a bee on your shoulder.” He immediately went into spaz mode, flailing around and frantically trying to flick it off his shoulder.
Normally, I would have burst out laughing at his ridiculous reaction, but this time I didn’t have a chance. He successfully flicked the bee off his shoulder and directly onto my bare knee. Before I could react, the pissed-off bee took our his vengeance on me. Of course, the bee dropped dead before I brushed it away. The stinger was still stuck in my knee. I stared at it and then at my boyfriend. Talk about chivalry fail. He still seemed squeamish as I pulled the stinger out of my flesh. As soon as I did, I knew something was wrong. The sting was already the size of a quarter.
It Was a Big Deal
I tried to tell myself if was nothing. Like I said, I had been stung by bees before and as far as I knew, I was not allergic to them. Yes, it hurt, but I was not a baby (like the pansy I was sharing my room with), so I shrugged it off and stood up to go to dinner. I ignored the fact that by the time we got to the restaurant the sting was the size of a baseball. I also ignored the constant pain in my knee joint. As I limped home, I insisted it was no big deal.
Turns out, it was a big deal. Mexican bees must have some special effect on me because the sting swelled to the size of a softball. I could only wear skirts because pants would no longer pull over the massive lump. I limped everywhere because I couldn’t properly bend my knee. This is when I started to get worried. I started prepping my non-Spanish speaking boyfriend on how to get help, how to explain to a doctor what had happened, etc. The problem was, we were booked on a bus back to Guadalajara the next morning.
If you do not turn the AC back on, I will vomit all over your bus
So, remember how I said I am both the allergy and nose bleed kid? I’m also the motion sick girl. My motion sickness can be controlled, but it is often aggravated by certain things, heat being one of them. At this point, the sting had also started an intense swelling in my throat and given me a slight fever. The bus was air conditioned, so I figured I’d be fine. I did okay up until one of the drivers decided that the weather was so nice we should just switch to windows. Within 20 minutes I was writhing in my seat, covered in sweat, trying to choke down water. I stumbled to the bathroom and laid on the cheap carpeting next to the weird plastic toilet, hoping to throw up and get the poison out of me. No such luck. I stumbled back to my seat and suffered. Finally, one of the drivers came by my seat and I looked him straight in the eye and said “If you do not turn the AC back on, I will vomit all over your bus.”
I made it back to our hostel in Guadalajara with my throat and skin on fire. I went to the pharmacy, got Benedryl and ibuprofen in mass quantities and prepared for a miserable night. I laid on top of the sheets, occasionally switching out cold rags on my flaming forehead. I kept checking to make sure I could still swallow. Somehow, I actually feel asleep.
I lived.
Luckily, by morning my fever had broke. My throat swelling had gone down a bit, though the sting still looked as menacing as ever. Over the next few days I hobbled through the city in skirts as my leg slowly returned to its normal size. It was quite an ordeal and now I think twice when I see a bee of any ethnicity.
