I remember some sort of ant bite. I have been allergic to ant bites ever since I stepped in an ant hill and got bit by tons of teeming ants all over my body. The overexposure has left me allergic, so that every time I get bit by an ant, the bite swells up quickly and becomes huge. Anyway, this particular ant bite was different. It was on the bottom of my right foot and swelled immensely, but it did not go away. It looked like some sort of ball coming out of the top of the sole of my foot. It itched like crazy and burned a bit. I thought that it would go away with time, so I kept it hidden and tried to ignore it. One night, while I was taking off my socks, my mom came into the room. She saw the growth on my foot and did what any mother would do. She prodded me with tons of questions and inspected the foot. Then, she drove me straight to the doctor, where we waited for quite a while before being admitted. Someone led us down the hall into a room, and a doctor came to check my foot. He poked the protrusion and asked me all sorts of questions about how I got it and how long ago. According to them, the ant bite had somehow gotten infected and had accumulated fluid inside. They took a needle and held me down. That’s another thing about me; like most children, I was deathly afraid of needles. I was panicking as the anxiety overwhelmed me. They promised that I wouldn’t do anything and calmed me down. My mother was instructed to distract me and keep me from looking down as they were about to insert the needle. I did feel a twinge of pain, but I felt more irritated. After draining the cyst, they instructed me to take some medication and switch the bandage every night. Apparently my foot had staph infection, and I needed some heavy medication to get over it.

Every night, I took this awful medication. Swallowing pills scared me at the time, so my parents opened the pills and mixed the contents with a caprison juice box. It tasted unpleasant, bitter like coffee and bland like oatmeal. I began to get headaches and got a cough. My mom recognized that I did not feel well and took me back to the doctor. They assured her that everything was ok and just a side effect. Meanwhile, my headaches became searing migraines. We made more visits and got the same reply every time. At school, I stayed at YMCA at the end of the day until I was picked up. There was one particular day that it was so bad, that during the homework session of YMCA I was laying down, trying to find some cool surface for my screaming head. I had to be picked up early that day. I began throwing up, so I was taken to the hospital. I remember laying down on a bed with an IV in my arm and my family standing beside me. After that, I was put under anesthesia and blacked out.

I awoke in the bed, all groggy and confused. After running some tests, I was diagnosed with serum sickness. The medicine that I had been taking, Septra, had been rejected by my body. I was allergic to it and had been putting it in my body for quite a while. I did not understand what this meant at the time, but I knew that this was serious. My mom stayed by my side while my dad and my sister returned home. Every night, a nurse would come in and administer some medication, give me another disgusting pill powder caprison, and inject something into the IV. I lost track of time, and whenever I stood up, I got another headache. After about a week in the hospital, I was released and returned home. The doctors had told me that I was clear. However, that night the migraines returned. In the morning I felt terrible, but went on with my morning routine. That’s when, out of nowhere, I began throwing up again. An ambulance came, and I was taken outside. I did not feel fear, but embarrassment as many neighbors came outside to watch me wheeled into the vehicle and driven away.

My system had not gotten rid of all of the Septra yet, and I had to spend another week in the hospital. My class sent me cards, which made me joyful. I eventually expelled the last of the medication, and was released for the second time. This time I felt a lot better. The headaches got gradually better, and I recovered well. I have to give it to my mom; she had done a great job watching over me and recognizing a problem early on. I am not sure why, but ever since my trip to the hospital I have always been extremely cautious and careful. I am always paranoid and worrying about the slightest things. One thing is for sure though, I will always remember my hospital visit and the compassion of my mother, who stood by me through the whole thing.