My Foot is on Fire

And no, it's not the Athlete's Foot (because I do have my yearly outbreak... which still astounds me a little each time it happens).  

I got mauled by a spider in my car the other day while I was hanging out chit-chatting with Brother.  I felt a very intense and sudden itching sensation on the top of my foot.  I began scratching like a maniac, only to perpetuate the stinging and burning and feel it spreading around my ankle, over my toes, under the arch.  The eff?!

We parted.  I started the car and began driving home but could not NOT reach down and scratch scratch scratch my foot -- It was freakin' ON FIRE.

I went home and immediately washed my foot with a gentle soap and warm water, thinking maybe I got caught up in a plant I'm allergic to.

It did nothing to alleviate the itch.  The raging, raging itch.

It wasn't until the following day at work, when midday I could NOT STOP SCRATCHING MY FOOT, which made it worse and worse, so I tried to fake it and rub my sensitive paw across the edge of my desk or the heel of my good foot.

But to no avail.  I finally bent over and examined it carefully, looking for something I might have missed.  I flexed my foot, pointing the toe downward, and ah!  There they were.  Three tiny holes in three tiny mounds across the top.  And upon further examination: one on the side of my big toe, one on the inner arch, and two on the back at the Achilles.  OH FOR THE LOVE OF --

Spider bites.  Most certainly spider bites, because mosquito bites do not hurt this badly nor burn as ferociously.  And, the three tiny bites have since melded into one gigantic mound -- swollen, flat, hard, and EFFING ON FIRE.

So much fire that it woke me up in the middle of the night, begging me to scratch and itch and tear away at the searing lump.

I hate spiders.  I didn't even get to see him.  If I had I would have murdered him and not felt one bit sorry.  If he got to bite me six times, then I should get to bite him six times and based on what I know about spiders, he wouldn't last very long.  I have a really strong bite.

So I was lying there in bed, trying desperately not to scratch.  I couldn't take it.  I did what I could with some Pond's Cold Cream and a sock and eventually fell asleep, but this morning I awoke and it was just as, if not more, angry than the nighttime.

I stopped at Freddy's on my way to work this morning and bought a vat of Hydrocortisone Cream and some huge band-aids.  I got to work without tearing my skin off and promptly dipped my foot in the cream, wrapped it in band-aids and crossed my fingers.

It lasted most of the day.  Actually, a big portion of the day until about now when I was on my way home and it started burning itching searing ouching so badly I almost couldn't walk and almost couldn't make my bi-weekly trip into the Goodwill Superstore on my way home.

But I did.  I made it.  I was even rather patient waiting for the guys to dismantle the table I bought after fifteen minutes of trying to fit it into my car, only to realize it would never fit.  Stupid narrow Volvo doors...

Now, I shall drink my daily dosage of wine and eat my daily smattering of random refrigerator things, tear the band-aids off this useless appendage and soak it in some ice water.  JEEEZ that sounds good.  Some cold water for the fire.  Then I shall, once again, slather my poor paw in itch relief cream and wrap it in something to keep my fingers from edging onto it and scratching away.

Or, like Ma says, I can just cut it off.  I mean, who needs it, anyway?  They're like kidneys.  We've got two of 'em for a reason.

Maybe?  Anybody?