I don't know what bit me... not once but twice

I have previously complained about proving irresistible to mosquitoes, midges and their associated winged cousins - whether bitten on my back by a cavalcade of Ukrainian insects while sleeping in a hotel in Odessa, being attacked through my clothes during an evening chat in a mosquito-infested North Hollywood or as a boy attempting to “save” an endless monotony of semi-dried sods of turf amidst clouds of hungry midges in a Mayo bog gulag.

But the worst bite caught me unawares.

California has its share of snakes, insects, bears, cayotes and two-legged assholes which people should be aware of when going outdoors -  mostly when venturing on hikes in the hills or visiting state parks - especially the latter kind of which the state has way more than its fair share. So, if I was to end up in hospital with a bite, I would have expected to blame something American (alongside my inherent lack of attention to where I am going).

I did not expect to end up during Christmas, at the emergency department in Galway University Hospital, answering some variant of the same question asked by a series of frowning medical people: “What on earth bit you?” 

I don’t know. I didn’t know then and I will likely not know in the future.

All I know is that a few days after returning from L.A., before Christmas, I woke up to two small red bumps beside my left eye. My wife said I looked terrible - and the two small bumps didn’t help. But I had been bitten by Moygownagh midges before and figured something got me while I walked from a neighbour’s house along the local river the night before. I explained that the bumps would recede even if my handsomeness would take a few years longer to become obvious for my wife.

But they didn’t recede and by the next day had swelled up in a conjoined ferocious redness, with two small dots in each bite. We had travelled to Galway for a stay at the Galmont Hotel for our wedding anniversary (and to celebrate neither of us having followed through on our sporadic murder threats to each other). The receptionist was curious at check-in and pointed to my eye which was now beginning to close.

“Was it at football?” 

My delayed reaction and admission of a mysterious insect bite, initiated a flicker of apprehension in her smile.

“Do you know what it was?” 

I smiled “no”, but our dinner plans soon ended up featuring a spice bag take-out in our hotel room as the side of my face throbbed in shooting pain and I could barely see through my left eye.

After a sleepless night and a late breakfast where residents were telling their staring kids in hushed whispers to be kind to the weird man “with the face”, my mortified wife ordered me to Galway University Hospital.

As I walked through the city, the cool wind eased the pain somewhat, even as I was expecting to endure hours of a crowded and coughing A&E. Instead my whole experience there lasted a pleasant 90 minutes, with less than a dozen people sat patiently in the comfortable waiting area. It may have been the Christmas holidays, but everyone mood was light and friendly - from the receptionists, to the nurses and doctors. I was quickly ushered from admissions, to the waiting room, to nurse triage, to the A&E ward, where I was fussed over by three bubbly medical staff who all wanted to know what bit me.

“I don’t know,” I auto-repeated, but confirmed it happened in County Mayo. 

Each nurse or doctor reacted with the same surprise. They had assumed I was bitten by an exotic inhabitant of Los Angeles when I revealed I had just returned from there.

“Are you sure you didn’t bring IT with you?” 

The young Indian doctor’s energy was infectious, as was my bite apparently. I was given prescribed antibiotics and strong painkillers and told to check my luggage. 

“You don’t want to alarm your mother!” she laughed.

Eh no. I most certainly don’t. At least not much more than I have.

After a conversation with Chat-GPT and some friends in The Neale who we visited on our way back to Mayo, we decided it was the 'False Widow Spider', which apparently has made Ireland its home in recent years, loving our centrally heated houses. So, I am unlikely to have had a stowaway from the United States in my bags. But we checked all the same.

These small spiders are fairly shy and only bite if they feel threatened, which my father would also have said about midges and I know he made that up so we kids would fill the last of the fertiliser bags with turf. But, in any case, how threatening is a comatose Moygownagh man as he snores in bed?

Our wise neighbour, who has seen more Christmasses than I have seen midges (or turf), has decided I was ambushed by mosquitoes when walking along the river, which was a daft thing to do so late at night being just home from America… and me with my lovely blood and all.

After another week, the swelling has eased, though the raised red bite marks persist and shooting pain intermittently permeates my left skull, in vicious darts which no tablet will relive. I must be patient. This was a formidable insect. I am thinking a cross between a Ballycroy midge and an Ardnaree wasp, with boldness of a Junior B footballer sporting a 'Mayo 4 Sam' tee-shirt in a Santa Monica bar (yes, I have witnessed this specimen of glorious manhood).

As the €100 hospital bill arrived in the mail, I had pause to consider my experience. From the efficiency and pleasantness of the medical staff, to the friendliness of the hotel workers and the kindness of strangers as I painfully navigated Galway city with the left side of my head inflated like half a football, I am glad to have been bitten in Ireland. From conversations with my American colleagues, my experience would have been much more convoluted and expensive if it had happened in Los Angeles, even if the medical care would have been as of high a standard, if not better.

Still, I don’t know what bit me, twice.