For nearly thirty-nine years, The Resistance held me, protected me. Within it, I was safe. Others were affected, but I remained immune.
The Resistance failed. The attacker broke through, and I began to understand the suffering others have always endured.
Yes, finally, for the first time in my life I have succumb to the evil effects of poison ivy.
Always I had been immune. I can remember grabbing hold of it with my bare hands before I knew what it was, and there was no effect. I admit, I became complacent. I would regularly weed my flower garden without wearing gloves or long sleeves. I did not throw caution completely to the wind; I washed my hands and arms well afterward, but it was more to protect my husband, who is extremely allergic and to whom I did not want to pass the oils of the plant.
A couple of days ago, I started to itch. And itch. It was itching like I’d never had before. The bumps on my hand and my arms looked like mosquito bites, but I’ve never had a mosquito bite itch like this. Then I noticed that the irritation had made a line on my skin — just like I’d seen on my husband and my friends when they had contracted poison ivy. That’s when I suspected. I showed it to Stephan, and he confirmed my diagnosis.
Well, drat. No longer can I pull weeds willy-nilly or on a whim. Now I must plan ahead, wear gloves and long sleeves, and throw the clothing in the washer immediately afterward.
I must join in the experiences of nearly everyone else in the world.