*I have quite a few posts in my drafts folder… decided to put a few up while I vacation from blogging about day-to-day life.

With the kids being older and going off to camp now days, I have been thinking about my days as a camper.

The more I thought about it, I realized I adored camp, but I bet my parents most likely weren’t the biggest fans.

When I was in fourth grade my parents let me go to Camp Lurecrest up in North Carolina. I remember I had an amazing time. I went with my childhood family friend, Chris McBride. There was a big talent show. I played the ‘Greatest America Hero’ theme on the piano and Chris sang. We were cool like that. ;) (HA!)

I believe we got 2nd place. I say ‘I believe’ because I don’t recall exactly — I did not feel well. At ALL.

After the talent show it started to storm. I remember running with my friends back to our cabin. All of us shrieking hysterically when lightning struck a tree mere feet from us. We REALLY freaked  out as a glowing ball bounced down the path in front of us.

Wait. What?

Glowing bouncing ball?

What the heck? Aliens? Camp juice spiked?

Years after that I proclaimed it was ‘ball lightning’ — yeh, now that I’m older I vote part of the tree flying off OR simply that I was hallucinating.

Remember I did not feel well?

I went to sleep still feeling a bit off. I woke up in a different room. With the nurse trying to talk to me. And I had NO idea what she was saying. Something about a temperature and 105? I told her it was much too cold to be talking. And I went back to sleep. I woke up in the hospital in Charlotte.

I was a wee bit confused.

Turns out, yeh. I went to camp and got pneumonia.

Fun times.

My poor parents had to drive up from  Charleston to get me.

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Later I think the parents must have decided it might be safer and involve less travel time to pick up a sick kid if they let me go to camp near home. So, I attended Camp St. Christopher a few times. Gorgeous camp. (Or at least it is in my memories!)  Just closing my eyes I can hear the water running in the showers, girls laughing and singing, all with an undercurrent of the constant sound of waves. I loved that place.

One year my bestest childhood friend, JM, and I were out messing around in the ocean during our free time. A LOT of girls had been pretending to have problems in the water to get the attention of a very good looking lifeguard. (Not us though… really!) The hunky lifeguard was, understandably, getting irritated. As we floated around being young teen girls I felt something brush up against my wrist… and then… my leg suddenly hurt…

and then…blackness.

No lie. I just remember seeing black for what seemed like an eternity. When I could see again, JM was yelling in my face: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Meanwhile she is waving frantically for the lifeguard to come help up. He ignored her at first. Must have tired of the teen girl antics. He was there for a tan, darnit!

I pointed to my leg and gasped something about it hurting. I pulled up my leg out of the water and we both gasped. It looked like someone had  taken a leather whip to my leg.  And there was something wrapped around it.  JM really began screaming at hunky lifeguard then.

Next memory is said hunky lifeguard carrying me in to the shore.  He plopped me on the sand and frantically began rubbing sand all over my leg. Well being the super cool 14 year old I was, I let him know exactly how good it felt… by blacking out.

This time I woke up in the infirmary to the sounds of dinner being served. Our free time had been right before lunch.

Er… okay?

Turns out I was lucky. A dead Portuguese Man of War like this one had  been found further down the beach that afternoon.

Seems part of it had become wrapped around my leg and brushed my hand. (It had stung JM and another friend as well, but luckily they literally had a couple of dots, no more.) I wasn’t so lucky in that hunky lifeguard had removed what was clinging to my leg but had also broken off all the nettles in my leg when he rubbed sand all over it.

The nurse warned my body was not happy. Ha. Understatement.

My calf was bigger than my thigh and covered in large angry black and purple ropes that nearly covered it from ankle to knee. My face was swollen on one side as well as my wrist. it looked like huge nasty black worms were under my skin. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I decided my life as I knew it was over, so I went back to sleep.

The pic below is sort of like my sting. Mine was more completely wrapped around the leg hardly any untouched skin showed… and each line was much thicker and swollen. Yeh, bad reaction anyone? Blech.

The nurse kicked me out a few hours later when the swelling went down on my face. I was slathered up with neosporin, hobbling, a bit woozy from too much Benadryl and quite mortified because I had this disgusting sting on my leg.

But hey, I was the new novelty and had lots of people talking to me. (Yeh, I was so not happy.)

There was a big dance the next night. I remember a college kid was teaching the girls a line dance. During a break she came over and was trying to help me… sigh… she thought I was a special needs kid with a deformity.

That was fun.

NOT.

When I got home from camp (a friend dropped me off at the house– or was it Don? I forget. *Wait… Susan, were you there?!) I was napping on the couch until my mom got home. I woke up to ‘WHAT IN GOD’S NAME HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?!’

Er, camp never called home I take it?

That was, obviously, my last year as a camper.

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Read this lifeguard’s story about his encounter with a PMW. Now that I have a better of understanding of what anaphylaxis is… I understand that I’m VERY lucky. I could have used a trip to the ER and steroids on board at the very least. Oh well, all’s well that ends well. Right?

I had black rope marks on my leg for a few weeks, they eventually faded into red scars that looked like burns. I thought they’d never go away. Truly two years later you could still see the scars… though they had faded to a shiny white by then.

One day I looked down to show a friend and realized… they were gone.

Totally gone. And until I was in labor with my first baby the memory of the pain was gone as well. I’m here to tell you, even as bad as induced labor was… the sudden pain of that sting was actually worse.

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I miss the days of going to camp.

Well, sorta.