Fallout

If your child hasn’t suffered the indignity of head lice, chances are you can rattle off the names of one or more of your good friends whose children have.

 

I, dear reader, am one of those good friends.

 

Twice I have gone to war against these revolting microscopic parasites, and each battle has left me permanently scarred. I know that I am not alone in feeling damaged for life, which is why I’m writing about head lice today – not to give you the willies, but to remind us all that we are united in our skirmishes against the enemy.

 

When I asked my fellow unlucky friends to describe to me in one or two words what it is like when a child has lice, I received a flurry of responses. These responses were precise and witty and smart and sad. (In many cases, they were much longer than one or two words. No matter. I have chatty friends.) This is how they describe the experience of lice, and yes, it is completely normal that your own head is starting to itch right now:    

 

• Evil.
• Demoralizing.
• I had to relocate my entire life to the Laundromat.
• Overwhelming.
• I used to have a stigma that only a certain “type” of family got lice. That stigma has gone out the window. 
• A pain in the ass.
• Demanding. I have tried full-on chemical treatments as well as organic ones. Nothing works 100% except sitting and picking out every bug and nit from my kids’ heads, which takes hours upon hours.
• Tedious.
• Unfair. My kids are clean and careful, and they’ve gotten it a few times.
• Exhausting.
• I appreciate that I have enough money, time and resources to deal with a lice outbreak, unlike many other people.
• Paranoia-inducing.
• I feel very intimate with all of my children’s heads.
• Humiliating.
• Heart-breaking.
• I look at everything differently now: movies, haircuts, sleepovers. I get anxious about them. I don’t even really want my kids cuddling together any more.
• I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.
• Isolating.
• Expensive. My washer broke from the 17 continuous loads of laundry I had to do, and I had to buy a new one.
• Time-sucking.
• Following my deep-clean of the house, I’m pretty sure you could have eaten off the floor and even performed surgery.

The one word that comes to my own mind when I think about the ordeal of head lice is “fallout.” This is because the aftermath of lice has proven to be almost as traumatizing as the lice itself. Take, for example, the four primary ways that life has appreciably altered for me and my poor family:

 

1. I turn into a raving lunatic when I hear the word “lice.”

 

You know the note you get from school indicating that a case of head lice has been detected in your child’s classroom? When I am in receipt of this dreaded missive, our household goes into immediate lice lockdown. I inspect my kids’ heads without delay, refusing to let them leave the kitchen until they are declared lice-free. But wait! Before they can go about their normal business, I mist a liberal amount of tea tree oil (a natural lice repellent found at your local Whole Foods store) all over them, as well as their backpacks, coats and clothing. Unfortunately, the smell of tea tree oil makes my children nauseous, so I am forced to deal with a good deal of gagging and other such nonsense. After this, I strip beds, wash linens, and vacuum the rugs. And then I check my own head, just to be safe. (See #4.) 

 

Once, when my son was in nursery school, the teacher discovered head lice on one of his classmates during rug time (the horror!), and told all of us parents to be extra vigilant. To me, this meant literally stripping Owen naked in the nursery school parking lot and bagging his clothes, then examining his scalp before allowing him into the car to go home. This situation was probably kind of upsetting for Owen (see #2), but as I said, I am a lunatic when lice is involved.       

 

2. My children are going to need therapy someday.

 

My children are no longer able to simply scratch their heads without me swooping in to conduct a thorough investigation. I sense they are growing weary of my watchfulness. Just last week, my daughter Caroline asked me, “Mom, isn’t it possible that my itch might just be a regular itch?” Yes, Caroline, it is entirely possibly that your itch might just be a regular itch, but I can’t keep away. I need to reassure myself that there are no bugs taking up residence in your beautiful hair. I am aware that my alarmist tendencies are likely to give you and your siblings lifelong scalp-related neuroses, and for this I am deeply sorry.  

 

3. I have become a zealot for head lice educational reform.

 

I regularly interrogate my children on the dos and don’ts of head lice. The following conversation, in fact, is typical of what goes on at our dinner table:  

 

Me: Are you ever allowed to share combs, brushes, barrettes, headbands, towels or bike helmets with anyone else?

 

My kids: (in unison) No!

 

Me: Should you lean in really close to other children while you’re playing or working together at school?

 

My kids: (in unison) No!

 

Me: If you hear about any kid having lice, even if he or she is not in your own class or grade, will you tell Mommy right away?

 

My kids: (in unison) Yes!

 

If only other people were as quick to learn. Take, for example, my kids’ music teacher. In the midst of a school-wide lice outbreak, she put on a sort of "wild west" musical performance for parents during which our children pranced onto stage wearing pioneer bonnets – pioneer bonnets that were being shared among all the kids. The millisecond the show came to an end, I bolted to the school nurse’s office, demanding to know why the music teacher hadn’t gotten the memo on proper head hygiene. The nurse was quite considerate with me while I was on that particular tirade, and she has been just as considerate while I have been on numerous others.  

 

4. I wrestle with my own personal head lice demons.

 

It remains a miracle that after exterminating multiple bouts of lice on my children’s heads, I haven’t gotten lice myself. Far less surprising is the fact that I constantly think I have lice. If I have the slightest itch or tickle, I race to the mirror to examine my scalp up close. I never find anything, but it’s easy to convince myself that I have a full-blown case.

 

On my worst days, I hide in the bathroom and use a lice comb to go through every inch of my hair. In many instances, my husband has walked in on me, making me feel as though I’m doing something illicit. Awhile back he was sympathetic to my lice fixation; now he shakes his head ruefully. “Not again,” he moans. “Not again.”

 

***

 

You can see how head lice has addled my brain and affected the mental well-being of my entire family. Is it pleasant? No. Is it to be expected? Yes. I believe we should all get a free pass when it comes to our lice hang-ups.   

 

Above all, we need to remember that many mothers have walked this path of lice madness before us, and many more will follow. It’s our job to hold their hands along the way, commiserating as best we can. 

 

Let’s fight the good fight, ladies, regardless of the fallout.