Oh my head...

I’ve been updating the house lately. A new coat of paint, new window treatments, new bed linens.… I’ve even replaced all the receptacles and light switches with nice new white ones. I’m a perfectionist, so even the hidden receptacles need to be replaced (in my humble but accurate opinion.) The other day I moved out the refrigerator to get to the plug behind it. After acquiring the space to maneuver, I plunged into the job. One problem…I forgot to duck. A shooting pain in the side of my head reminded me of the cabinet, and I dropped to the floor in pain, quoting King James English the whole way, “Verily, verily! Behold! That hurteth!!

It’s not the first (nor the 85th) time I’ve hit my head, but it was the first time I’d drawn blood. After the initial pain eased, I saw the blood on my fingers. It was more than a scratch, but definitely not the gusher I expected, and without someone with me, I couldn’t tell how bad it was. I didn’t want to go to the ER just to check, so I did the only thing I could…I called Ralph. He’s our resident nurse at church.

It was Saturday and he was on his way to Lowes, so I met him there. There in the parking lot, he confirmed it. “Yeah, you could use a stitch or two.” So, that’s how I got 3 staples in my head. After the initial hit, it never really hurt again, except the next morning when I forgot to be careful washing my hair. It was a great conversation starter though, and I never realized how many people would worry about my well being until a passing reference wound up on Facebook.
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one.

Several years ago I was trimming the big Kwanzan Cherry in my front yard. I’m always hesitant to cut limbs, because you can’t put them back, but this thing was really in the way. I decided to remove a few bottom limbs to make it easier to mow and snipped the first one-inch branch. As I reached with the loppers for the second branch, I saw some movement in the corner of my eye. In the eternity that was a second or so, I focused in on four hornets that were coming in my direction. They were in echelon formation diving and then turning left in a sweeping upward arc. They reminded me of a flight of World War II fighter planes, positioning themselves for the coveted belly shot.

As they approached my face, I instinctively began swatting with my hands while simultaneously running backward and blowing out my nose and mouth. (I had long ago dropped the loppers.) The lead hornet, taking advantage of this training opportunity, decided to show his flight how it’s done. Undaunted by the turbulence I was creating, he deftly piloted himself toward his target. Reaching his destination, he began to lay his ordinance.

As he flew up my nostril, my eyes widened in shock and fear. Instantly, I blew harder and he was thrown out, but not before he got his stinger into me. Having done his damage, the lead hornet gathered the flight and returned to the hive, no doubt to regale the other hornets with tales of his feat and celebrate into the night.

I've been stung by Yellow Jackets with no serious result, so I didn’t think I was allergic. But I’ve never had a run in with hornets. That and the location of the strike made me a little nervous, so I called Ralph. (Great guy, Ralph.)

“What should I do for a hornet sting?” I asked.

“Put meat tenderizer on it,” Ralph replied.

Still in a bit of shock, I said, “No Ralph, it’s my nose.”

So Ralph said, “Ok, put ice on it.”

I blinked a couple of times, and then said, “No Ralph, it’s in my nose…he flew UP my nose.”

“Oh,” said Ralph. (He’s one cool customer. No panic. If I ever have something serious happen to me, I want him there.)

“Get some liquid Benadryl, you’ll be fine,” he said.

Later, after I had followed his instructions, I called him back and asked, “What do I do if I get an ice cube stuck up my nose?”

“Wait for it to melt,” he replied.