Something is really bugging me, and it’s made me extremely uncomfortable. It’s keeping me awake at night, tossing and turning. During the day, regardless of what I may be doing, I am constantly reminded of just how agonizing my situation is. And I’m just itching to tell you about it.

I suppose I could blame it on Mani, our latest little rescue pup. Several weeks ago, I was notified of a puppy in deathlike circumstances, so Jeff and I jumped in the car on a rescue mission. There, curled up on the sidewalk was a teeny-tiny, nearly hairless, brownish-red ratlike being. As no vets are open on Sunday evening, I took him home. The next day our trusted vet warned me to be mindful of how I handled this little mangy perrocito.

During my lifetime, I have seen countless dogs with “The Mange”. When I was young, dogs with mange were dunked in a giant vat of kerosene or motor oil to kill the mites.  That only served to make the poor pup more miserable.

Not an option.

My dog groomer, Emilio, bathed Mani in a special shampoo and cut off what little hair was left.

Yes, I could blame it on Mani, but the truth of the matter is it was my own damn fault that I got scabies. Yes, I have been Scabified! And I am fucking miserable!

It started with an itchy back, so I kept my telescoping back scratcher handy.

Soon the itch, along with a rash, spread down my legs and across my chest. Hmmmm…

I made an appointment with my dermatologist, who quickly verified my fear. Yes, there were probably about 32,456,002 teeny tiny itch-mites zealously mining for gold (or blood, in this instance). The thought of it made me cringe. Still does.

I always had the impression that only farmers and really poor people got scabies. Growing up in rural Appalachia, when the poorest of the kids would come to school scratching all their itches bloody, they’d get sent home with special soap and told to stay out of school for a few days. “EEEEWWWWW!!!! Billy Wayne’s got The Cooties!!! OOOOOHHHH!!!!”

Never, ever, did I think I’d get ’em. Ha! 

So, every night for three nights I had to apply a sulfur/vasoline compound to my entire body from the neck down. This, I suppose, is the more civilized approach to the motor-oil dunk. When I say ENTIRE BODY, I mean all of it. Between the fingers and toes. Behind the knees. Under the armpits. Bellybutton. It seems that mites like crevases. So….guess where else you have to grease up? And no, there is no sex involved!

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to sleep slathered in petroleum jelly and sulfer, smelling like an auto body shop with your jammies stuck to your skin until you literally have to peel them off, but let me tell you, it ain’t great.

But that’s not all. It is 100% necessary to de-contaminate your entire house so you don’t continue to re-infect yourself and everybody else. I had to wash all Bed, Bath and Beyond in hot water and a hotter dryer. Anything I couldn’t wash had to be wrapped tightly in plastic or hit with heat, so I proceeded to iron all the mattresses, couches, and curtains. I also washed all four dogs in medicated shampoo (so far so good). Conveniently for him, Jeff was away for two weeks selling our boat, so he was “marked safe” from the mites and housework.

After three nights of coating my body in goo, I was told the creepy crawleys should be dead. Well, as Madea so eloquantly put it…

At last I could move on!

But No. You want to know what happened? The itching got WORSE!!!! WAAAYYYY WORSE!!!! It seems that once the bitch mites die, your body develops an allergic reaction to the dead critters and their waste! Waste?? Yes. Waste. And eggs!  And the itching can last for up to four weeks, until your epidermis literally sloughs all that shit off!!!!

Oh for fuck’s sake!!! Shoot me now!!!

I texted the Dermatologist, she said take antihistimines. Begged the vet for a solution. He said bathe in the dog shampoo I purchased for Mani. One last desperate attempt at relief, I ran, itching and crying to Emilio, the groomer. Hypoallergenic shampoo was his guess.

For the last two weeks I have soaked myself in medicated dog shampoo, scrubbed myself with oatmeal in a cold bath, gorged on antihistimines, slathered in Calamine lotion, sprayed tea-tree oil all over myself, knocked myself out with sleeping pills, and I’ve still got The Cooties!

So let this be a lesson to us all.  Scabies aren’t reserved for the poor, or the farmers, or even the animals. We are all subject to getting Cooties. No judgement, not from me, not anymore. I’m sorry, Billy Wayne. Really, I am.

Be safe out there, friends. It’s a creepy, crawly world!