Update: Monster Hands and Puffy Face
Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
I’ve been missing in action once again but even Murphy’s Law at its worse couldn’t have predicted this one.
When I was a child, my younger sister Masakela (named after the famed South African king of horns Hugh Masekela) would have severe and sometimes inexplicable allergic reactions to commonplace things. The things a small cup of fruit punch would do to her body could be the basis of any Weird Science movie sequel. Considering the way most young siblings behave, there was endless fascination, teasing and pointing as “the games began.” The swelling of her top lip was always the overture to the symphony of transformations to come … swollen face, at least one eye swollen closed and the inevitable drunken speech that comes when your lips triple in size in about thirty minutes. (Medical sophistication wasn’t very keen in the 70s when it came to allergies and allergic reactions.)
Why do I mention this? It is neither a synaptic misfire nor late-night drinking. It’s the sound of Masakela munching on popcorn, pointing in my direction and singing “It’s your turn….” (paraphrasing Diana Ross).
Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m a dog lover … big time. So while back home dealing with other family issues, a clumsy, floppy bundle of comic relief was introduced to the family – Raven, a beautiful German Shepherd puppy. She had me at first woof. I introduced myself with the typical puppy roughhousing, cuddling and snuggles. She introduced herself by attempting to run figure-eights through my legs as I walked across the backyard.
Shortly after my introduction to Raven, I began to get a little itchy. I thought, “no big deal.” I’ve had small cases of hives before from outdoor activities. A little discomfort, a little anti-itch lotion and all will be back to normal. That’s the way it seemed to go … at first.
The hives disappeared and turned to welts on my hands, forearms and lower legs. Itchy, itchy … but still not intolerable. But after one very loooong night where the itching was unbearable and sleeping impossible, it was time to see the dermatologist. And since the last time I needed a dermatologist was when I lived in New York, this was going to be an interesting introduction.
Me Like Good Music family meet Dr. Steven Mackey, my dermatological savior. 
(Now, here’s where we get into a little TMI (too much information). If you don’t want the gruesome details, skip the italicized paragraphs.)
After hearing my plight, Dr. Mackey’s office told me to rush over and they’d squeeze me in. Perfect, despite his office being an hour away. My other sister (Florence) and I hopped into the car and began our journey. After the “new patient” procedures (forms and long interview/questions to get as much backstory as possible), I met Dr. Mackey and a plan of action was set. A steroid shot and two prescriptions later (pills and topical spray), I was heading home. A few hours later, I experienced a moment of bliss. Itchy, itch, no more. It was magical. It was serene. It was short-lived.
As I basked in my itch-free afternoon, I noticed tiny blisters forming in the palms of my hands. They were small in number (about a half-dozen each hand) and very small in size, but still enough for concern. Dr. Mackey had already instructed me to call in a few days with an update. By dinner time, the nearly imperceptible palm blisters had formed a Braille-readable text on both sides of my hands, including my fingers. I didn’t need a Braille translation. Every line read OUCH!
Masakela arrived early the next morning, about 5:00 a.m., to find a flashback moment beyond anything she could have anticipated. I’d become her. My face was double its normal size. My left eye was swollen completely shut. My right ear was so large it looked normal size. (My normal ear size is about 1.5in/3.8cm from top to bottom.) The rest of my body was covered with blisters and welts. Both my hands were swollen such that I couldn’t make a C shape. A fist was completely out of the question. Boy, did I have an update prepared for Dr. Mackey … or so I thought.
Dr. Mackey’s practice is typical of doctors in this area. They spend specified days at their primary location, then other days of the week are spent providing care and services to nearby, smaller areas. Such was my bad luck. He also gave me his cellular number in case of emergency but, of course, I hadn’t noticed that he aced that special class doctors take for developing indecipherable handwritings.
Panic ensued. (By the way, you realize how tiny cellular keypads are when your finger is now wide enough to press two keys at once.) After one more agonizing night, Dr. Mackey returned to his primary office and I quickly made an appointment. I even got the VIP treatment, they rushed me right in … or maybe they didn’t want to scare the children. 
While examining the latest crop of produce growing all over my body, Dr. Mackey told me the story of a Navy serviceman who had a very similar allergic reaction. Strangely, that short story made me place my hot dog size finger on my Star Trek forehead and breath a sigh of relief. There was hope for me after all. I wouldn’t have to join the Fantastic Four as Itchy PussMan. One squirt and the enemy will be stuck in place until the rest of the team can come and clobber them. (Don’t “ugh” me. I told you to skip these paragraphs.)
Dr. Mackey decided to be more aggressive and after another shot, more pills and a wink of my puffy eye (manually accomplished), I’m on the road to recovery.
I’m happy to say all body parts have returned to their normal size, despite now being a human snow-making machine. Every step results in tiny flakes of skins being shed. I’m close to wearing a whiskbroom and dustpan on a toolbelt.
I’m most happy about my hands. I can now hit the keyboard and see what I intended to produce, instead of that letter plus one or two extras. My hands currently look like latex gloves have been melted onto them, but I’m still in heaven. Each day a little more of that outer, crusty shell breaks away, revealing a new patch of skin. I’m being reborn.
I didn’t intend for this post to be so long but sometimes you just can’t stop yourself. Masakela’s birthday is next month and she has pictures of my monster hands and puffy face in her cellular. I’m sure she’ll whip ‘em out for a giggle. But I don’t mind. I’ll even make the popcorn.
P.S. Raven says “’sup”.
It’s been several weeks since I last posted to Me Like Good Music. Unfortunately, my disappearance has been because of multiple family medical issues.
