I got poison ivy while cutting wood last weekend at our deer camp.
If you've never had it, let me fill you in on how bad poison ivy sucks.
Imagine a mosquito bite. Now multiply the itch by about a thousand and spread that mosquito bite over both of your forearms. Did I mention that NOTHING out there stops the itch?
Then those mosquito bites turn into oozing, crusty, ulcerating blisters. On top of that, you spend a two or three day period breaking out in new blisters as your body starts to react, so I'm still unsure how bad my exposure was.
It could be worse... my dad got it too. And, like I said, mine's limited to both of my forearms. My dad got it on his face and on his junk. I can't begin to describe the primal horror and distress the thought of getting this filth on Doctor Zombie's "little zombie" stirs within me. (shudder/)
So I sit here, feeling as though insects are squirming and twisting beneath the skin of my forearms. I sit here with my arms covered in a smelly, pink (and I suspect, ineffectual) smear of calamine lotion and Benedryl. And I sit here in a foul black mood BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP THE FUCKING ITCHING!
I swear to the dark gods, if one more person tells me that it can't be that bad, that the medicine should make the itch stop; I am going to punch said person in the larynx and stand over their convulsing and prone body, listening in satisfaction as they gurgle and try to breath. I'll stand there and twitch with satisfaction, but only partly. The majority of my twitching will be because I CAN'T SCRATCH!
Groan. Please... make... the...itching...STOP!