Learning to love bees
I love bees, but I used to hate them. Years ago, I had a terrible experience from being stung by a bee. My fear of bees grew so bad that I would uncontrollably tremble and shake at just the thought of them.
It was one of those summers that got so hot that you could see the heat rippling up from the black asphalt. I was riding my shiny new bike for the first time. It was hot pink, had pink and white tassels whipping in the wind off the handle bars, and shiny beads rattling up and down the spokes of the wheels. To my mind, they sounded like the rumbling of an engine.
There in my local school parking lot, I turned hard and fast doing figure eights on the blacktop, pretending I was driving a fast sports car down a race track, and then I felt a tiny tickle. I itched it. And then, as if informed by some ancient intuition, I knew I'd been bee-stung, though I’d never been stung before. My heart beat fast, and I tasted metal. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
Ditching my bike on the driveway, I ran through the front door of my home, crying and yelling, “Mom, a bee stung me, and I don’t feel right, and I feel dizzy.” I remember Mom shrieked when she saw my blue face.
I woke up in the doctor’s office, with him jabbing the biggest shot I had ever seen, in my entire life, into my thigh. As he administered the shot, he told my mom that he might need to give me another dose of the epinephrine if I didn't improve. My mom crawled up onto the exam table, took me into her arms, and swaddled me like a baby. I remember her hair was wet with her tears and I wanted to comfort her but I felt so sleepy and so distant.
And then, in only an instant, I felt the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through my body. I felt the swelling in my throat go down, and I could breathe again. I felt like I could jump over a mountain. I squirmed myself free from mom's clutch and slapped the doctor across his chubby cheek.
"That hurt" I hollered into his surprised face.
Chuckling, he explained to me that I was allergic to bees. If I had gone just ten minutes more, I would not have survived. I learned that I would have to carry an epinephrine shot with me, everywhere I went. For the rest of my life.
"I hate bees," I told him.
"I believe you," he said, as he rubbed his jaw.
Discovering that I could die, from just one tiny sting, terrified me for years to come.
And then, one summer, I challenged myself. I decided to take action and change the way I lived. I decided to learn about bees. I learned that using certain products attracted them and that I should avoid them. I learned that if a bee were to land on me, the worst thing to do would be to run away or whack it because that would scare it into stinging. I had to learn different ways to be around them, and in the process of learning all about bees, from what attracts them to how to react when one lands on me, my fear went gradually away.
Learning to love bees was hard to do, but I did learn to love them. Now, years later, I have three beehives on my roof! I enjoy watching them flit through my garden as they hunt for pollen.
There in my local school parking lot, I turned hard and fast doing figure eights on the blacktop, pretending I was driving a fast sports car down a race track, and then I felt a tiny tickle. I itched it. And then, as if informed by some ancient intuition, I knew I'd been bee-stung, though I’d never been stung before. My heart beat fast, and I tasted metal. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
Ditching my bike on the driveway, I ran through the front door of my home, crying and yelling, “Mom, a bee stung me, and I don’t feel right, and I feel dizzy.” I remember Mom shrieked when she saw my blue face.
I woke up in the doctor’s office, with him jabbing the biggest shot I had ever seen, in my entire life, into my thigh. As he administered the shot, he told my mom that he might need to give me another dose of the epinephrine if I didn't improve. My mom crawled up onto the exam table, took me into her arms, and swaddled me like a baby. I remember her hair was wet with her tears and I wanted to comfort her but I felt so sleepy and so distant.
And then, in only an instant, I felt the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through my body. I felt the swelling in my throat go down, and I could breathe again. I felt like I could jump over a mountain. I squirmed myself free from mom's clutch and slapped the doctor across his chubby cheek.
"That hurt" I hollered into his surprised face.
Chuckling, he explained to me that I was allergic to bees. If I had gone just ten minutes more, I would not have survived. I learned that I would have to carry an epinephrine shot with me, everywhere I went. For the rest of my life.
"I hate bees," I told him.
"I believe you," he said, as he rubbed his jaw.
Discovering that I could die, from just one tiny sting, terrified me for years to come.
And then, one summer, I challenged myself. I decided to take action and change the way I lived. I decided to learn about bees. I learned that using certain products attracted them and that I should avoid them. I learned that if a bee were to land on me, the worst thing to do would be to run away or whack it because that would scare it into stinging. I had to learn different ways to be around them, and in the process of learning all about bees, from what attracts them to how to react when one lands on me, my fear went gradually away.
Learning to love bees was hard to do, but I did learn to love them. Now, years later, I have three beehives on my roof! I enjoy watching them flit through my garden as they hunt for pollen.
Works Cited
“Insect Allergies.” Allergy and Asthma Specialists, PSC, 23 Mar. 2016, owensboroallergy.com/insect-allergies/. Available at: https://owensboroallergy.com/insect-allergies/. (Accessed: 8 Sep 2019).