How I tried and failed to wait out hives

My family almost never resorts to using medicine. Nasty cold? Chicken and ginger soup. Cold sore? Ice it. I, too, am a proponent of this mentality. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work, especially for a malady such as hives.

The night before my rash manifested, I stayed up until about 2 a.m. This foolish action, combined with the cold I had acquired, was perhaps what triggered the hives outbreak.

I initially noticed the strange raised white bumps on my legs in my first-period AP Statistics class on the Tuesday of Homecoming week, but worry didn’t set in until after school, when the raised bumps spread to other areas and transformed into rather disgustingly swollen clusters.

Using Google, I figured out that the bumps were hives, a symptom of allergic reactions. I decided not to take them seriously, however, because I knew I had almost no food allergies.

My mother, too, suggested that I “sleep it off,” advice that I chose to follow.

Over the next four days, I went on with my usual brute-rest strategy for illnesses: plenty of sleep, enough jackets and a “necessary” break— since YouTube videos are so full of antioxidants and have other therapeutic benefits. There was, however, almost no change in my condition. Each outbreak would recede into red patches, only to reincarnate as a new reaction.

On Homecoming Friday, I had strange chills and numbly swollen hands and feet. In the evening, my tongue unexpectedly swelled.

By Saturday, the hives had spread everywhere,  even to areas such as the back of my knees, and were exasperatingly itchy. In fact, a little more should probably be said about the itchiness of hives. Each bump forms with a drawn-out period of itching that will occasionally fade.

If you should be undisciplined enough as to scratch, new welts will spring before your very eyes and viciously renew the cycle of formation-itching.

Up until Saturday night, I thought that if I resisted temptation and ignored the itch, my skin would eventually settle down. But when it came time to sleep, in the silence and darkness the itchiness only continued to grow. I lay frozen, trying to will myself into unconsciousness. Even so, the itching persisted until I was twitching with madness and frustration.

At 1 a.m. I finally realized that my suspicions were correct; the hives were worsening, despite no provocation. What was once smooth skin was suddenly covered with layers and layers of bumps and blobs.

I woke my parents, frantically clawing my skin as my mom hurried around preparing to drive me to the hospital. Even as I raked the hives, I couldn’t keep up with the constant itch that outraced whatever relief nails could provide.

And then, we went to the emergency room and got, hallelujah, medicine — pills — drugs!— antihistamine medication, steroids … and a prescription. The best part? The doctor couldn’t figure out the cause. Like I said, I’m not allergic to anything.

So in the end, the “wait it out and sleep” approach I had always relied on didn’t work. Come to think of it, I should have just listened to all the friends who told me to go see a doctor from the start. The next time I come down with questionable symptoms, I’ll put my faith in the American medical system and go to the doctor earlier.