WAR!

It's on.

A little less than two weeks ago, I awoke with a few small itchy bites on my left arm. No matter, I thought; it's probably a stray spider. A couple dabs of hydrocortisone, and I had forgotten all about them. The next morning I rose to find still more bites, this time on the opposite arm. How annoying, I mused. Consulting Charlotte and finding that she was bite-free, I once again chalked them up to a rogue bug. But by the third morning, I was Concerned.

As is more often than not my first move when I encounter the unknown, I did some internet research. I google web-and-image searched for common pests and their corresponding bites, and was able to determine that it was most likely fleas. Yikes, I thought. But hadn't I just had the cat checked out at the vet? Well, these things happen, I told myself.

Immediately following work that day, I went to the pet store to purchase anti-flea paraphernalia for both cats and all furniture in the apartment. Total: $40. I spent the next two hours spraying down everything I could conceivably reach, and then some. I practically bathed the cats in the animal spray (much to their chagrin), and stripped my bed of all its bedding. I vacuumed the floors, couches and my mattress and bleach-cleaned all surfaces in the bathroom. I then took all clothes that had been in or around furniture, plus whatever was in my laundry basket, and took them, with the bedding, to the Laundromat. Two more hours and $10 in quarters later, my room was neater than it had been in months. I took the hottest shower I could stand and got into my still-warm-from-the-dryer PJs. Just then, Donnie called.

"Yo. Pepper's got bed bugs. I can't stay at his place."
"Bed bugs?"
"Yeah we woke up with all these bites."
"...What do they look like?"
"Like these red dots on our arms"
"Fuck."
"What?"
"I just spent the last four hours massively cleaning and spraying for fleas."
"It's probably bed bugs. There's an epidemic in New York. You'll have to get rid of your mattress."
"But I just got a new one! No way."

I began to panic. Bed bugs?? Surely not. Whoever heard of bed bugs in this day and age? Didn't I see something on the Discovery Channel a while back about how bed bugs are only in like Guatemalan hostels? I resolved to deny the possibility of bed bugs and stick to my flea theory.

The next morning I woke up with bites on my legs. Still, Charlotte had zero bites. Desperately looking for answers, I got back on the internet to do some serious research on any and all differences between fleas and bed bugs. What do the bites look like? Where should I check for bugs? Would there be any evidence? Do pets carry them? What is the incubation period? How common are they in my neighborhood? And so on. Unfortunately, with seemingly no presence of anything living in my room, I was unable to identify the culprit. Everything I read told me that flea bites and bed bug bites are nearly impossible to distinguish, and I had a pretty equal chance of having either infestation. Wonderful.

I decided I needed a professional opinion. I went to the doctor on the 6th day to try to at least identify the bites which were by now unmanageably itchy. Not entirely unexpectedly, he told me he didn't know what it was that was getting me, but he prescribed some steroids and an antihistamine. Total cost including meds: $35. He told me to see a dermatologist if the situation didn't improve.

The situation did not improve. By the 9th morning I was officially Freaking Out. My allergic reaction to the bites was such that it looked as though someone had taken a lead pipe to specific areas of my forearms and ankles. Tiny red dots where "something" had drawn blood were visible on each bite/bruise, and when I showed them to people, I was met with shock and sympathy. I made an appointment with the dermatologist.

After extensive scrutinization of the affected areas on my body, Dr. Davis informed me that something was, indeed, biting me. Probably while I slept. Probably in my room. Great. Since Dr. Davis was "out of my insurance network", I was forced to pay her the full $200 up front for her diagnosis. They told me they will file a claim, and I await reimbursement. I went down to my pharmacy to fill the prescriptions for (more) steroids and some topical cream ($20), where they informed me that they would have to special order the anti-itch ointment and I would probably get it the next day. That was the final straw.

I don't mind telling you that I cried a little bit then. I was on 34th street, it was midday, I had to get back to my office, and I was trying really, really hard to pull it together. Breathe, I told myself. You can totally handle this.

I called my mother.

"I don't know what to do the doctors don't know what's biting me and they gave me steroids and I look like a leper and I need to get rid of my bed but I can't afford a new bed and I can't stop itching and WHAT IS BITING ME"

She told me to calm down and then generously, AMAZINGLY, offered to pay for a new bed. "GET RID OF EVERYTHING FABRIC", she instructed. "Call 1-800-Mattres (leave off the last s for savings) and get an inexpensive bed. Have them deliver it tonight. You'll be OK." I felt better.

IT WAS THEN THAT I DECLARED WAR.

I called the toll-free number and ordered a full-sized mattress, box spring, and bed frame. Total cost: approx. $350.

I went to Kmart and bought:

-new sheets
-new pillowcases
-new pillows
-new curtains w/rods
-a new rug
-new towels
-Tide
-A bug bomb
-bug spray
-garbage bags

Total: approx. $240

I went into my bedroom and threw away:

-sheets
-pillows and pillowcases
-comforter
-comforter cover
-mattress pad
-rug
-curtains
-any clothes I hadn't worn in 6 months or more
-towels
-mattress
-box spring
-bed frame
-couch

It was while I was disassembling the bed that I saw them. Under the box spring, hiding in the gauze.

BED. FUCKING. BUGS.

I yelled at them. Yeah, I did. I sprayed bug spray directly on them and watched them die, while yelling at them. I think they were actually already dead but I had to be sure. I emptied EMPTIED my room of all furniture and clothes. I put ALL of my clothes (all) into garbage bags and loaded them onto a cart. I set off a bug bomb in my barren room and went to the Laundromat. I washed everything in HOT water and then transferred them into multiple dryers for 84 minutes each on HIGH. Total cost: approx. $20 in quarters. Charlotte came and met me and took me out for a drink. I was wearing the only thing I didn't wash; brown capri pants and a white t-shirt with black socks and adidas sandals. I've looked better. However she insisted that we go, and even dressed down enough to be somewhat at my level of style. We looked awesome. After drinks I went back to the Laundromat, folded everything, put it in new garbage bags, reloaded the cart, and went home. It was about 1:30am. Charlotte had aired out my bedroom so I swept, then Swiffered a LOT. I then threw away the clothes I had been wearing and took a very hot shower. Wrapped in one of my new towels, I assembled my bed, made it with the new purchases, and put away all of my clothes. I got dressed and sat down. It was 3am. I glanced over my shoulder at the floor by the head of my bed and saw a bug. crawling. on. the. wall.

Again, I became dangerously close to complete hysterics. I could have easily lost it right then and cried forever. I was on the cusp. But instead I got really, really mad. With eerie calm I took the cap off the bug spray and POURED it onto this lone bug. It died instantly. I then SOAKED the perimeter of my room where the floor meets the walls and moved my bed to the center of the room like an island. I sprayed the bed frame and wheels and the floor around my island. I slept fitfully.

I awoke for the first time with no new bites, but I was still nervous as I knew I'd have to move my bed against a wall eventually, and there may yet be survivors. Work dragged on as I thought about what steps I could further take once I got home. I knew that somehow what I'd done wasn't enough. So I got home and got rid of my lamp, my nightstand, anything made of paper that wasn't a book, and anything on my shelves that wasn't jewelry. I then moved the bed out of the way and vacuumed the holy hell out of my floor. I got in the corners. Between the radiator bars. In the electric sockets. Everywhere. Twice. I got to know my floor. Every paint splatter, splinter, and discoloration. I repositioned my bed against the opposite wall and placed my small table, the only piece of furniture left, far away from it. I put the important papers and things I could not throw away in a sealed garbage bag and set that on the windowsill. I placed a flashlight by my bed. I showered, and put on PJs and socks and went to Melissa's for a little while. I got home, changed my socks and clothes, and got in bed. Since the war declaration no one, including pets, has been allowed in my room except me. I spent a good 20 minutes closely inspecting the floor and bed with the flashlight before I fell asleep.

That was yesterday. This morning I woke up with no new bites and thankfully the old ones are getting better. I pray PRAY to all things holy that this is the end. Apart from moving there is nothing else I can do. Actually I lied, I am buying some resin today to create a seal around my entire room which I hope will prevent any further invasions. For the next week or so my room is a pristine, sterile bunker. No shoes. No animals. No opening the door. I won't even bring my purse in there. If it isn't new or wasn't exposed to boiling hot water for an hour or more, it can't be in my room. At least until I'm sure I'm bug-free.

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. It has exhausted me physically, emotionally, and financially. And I don't even know if it's over! I've read all these horror stories about people that have lived with them for months or years and never get rid of them and spend thousands on exterminators to treat their places multiple times and even move and the assholes still follow them. I refuse to let this be a part of my life. Just, no way. If I have to throw everything I own away and just start completely over I will. Not allowed. Not in my house.

So bed bugs, I hate you. And I will kill all of you if I have not done so already. Do not crawl on me while I am sleeping, or ever. Do not get into the cracks in my walls. I have memorized the exact placement of every dot on my floor and walls and if you are among them I will know immediately. I am armed. I am vigilant. You underestimate me. Also, you owe me about $950 so, you know, if you could get on that.