Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Lice Capades

I kinda wanted to cry a little.

I kinda wanted to shave my head.

I kinda hated hair.

On a chilly night last spring, I reclined on the sofa snuggling my blanket, sipping tea while watching a show with Charley. Berzo came up and flipped her head down exposing her neck and said, “Mama, can you check my hair for lice?”

We’ve been dealing with lice for a couple weeks and I felt confident that the problem had been eradicated from our household. But, hey, doesn’t hurt to check, and it’ll set Berzo's mind at ease.

“Sure. Go grab the lice comb.”

“OK, Mama!”

She ran off then came back and put the comb in my hand.  She flipped her head down again. I started to comb.

I combed and looked. Nothing. Nothing.

My mind began to wander.

Gosh, I’m tired. I’m so glad it’s Friday. Don’t have to get the kids up early. Morning coffee with Charley will be nice…

Wait. What the fuck is that!

I stopped and inspected the bug that was scrambling on the comb.

“What is it, Mama?”

“Not sure. Go grab a paper towel, please.”

I wiped it off on the paper towel and experimented with smooshing it. It doesn’t smoosh. I smoosh harder and grind it with the comb tines into the paper towel. Still squirming. For a moment, I lost the bug in the towel folds and think it’s in my blanket. I pushed my blanket on the ground and searched the towel again and there it is. I expected it to jump like a flea, it didn't; it just flailed on the towel. I pinned it with one thumbnail to isolate the head, then brought in my other and pressed them together.
Crunch, snap. It’s dead.

Huh, so that’s a lice...louse..lice-louse or louse of lice?


I got up. I sat Berzo in front of the computer and got the Lice Detection Spray and hosed her head down with the stuff. I combed and found some nits and another louse. I comb and comb.

I wash the comb.

Lice are afraid of me.
I sat Boots the Impervious down and sprayed and combed. Her hair is much longer, so as I pulled it through her hair and she squealed each time as I neared the ends of her hair.



All the years lice has gone through our school Boots has never gotten it. Even when she’s played with kids for hours that had an infestation, for whatever reason she’s never gotten it. Until now.

As I combed my own hair, I informed Charley, “If I have it again. I shaving my head too.”

Cue head scratching.


The Lice Capades began with a frantic note home from Berzo's teacher about a lice outbreak in her classroom. Berzo was checked at school, no bugs found. Whew! I double checked her at home—no bugs. (Not that I really knew what I was looking for.)

I figured that our string of lice-doging luck was continuing as usual. Perhaps helped along by the magic spice spray we use on the kids before we send them off to school.

Then on a Monday, just as I was arriving home from helping out in Berzo's class, I got a call from the school with the report that Berzo had lice.

“Really? OK, I’ll be right there,” I said.

I picked up a distressed and embarrassed kiddo and brought her straight away to Lice Knowing You in Beaverton. We walked up to the door and I tried to pull it open.


What, what? Noooo….

“What are we going to do, Mama?” Berzo said squeezing my hand.

We idled for a few minutes while I tried to figure out what to do. We walked away to see if there was another entrance, when a head popped out of the door.

“We’re you just trying to come in?”

Slightly desperate, I say, “Yes…”

“We’re closed right now…” she looks at me intently, “but come on in, I’ll help you.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” I said. I wanted to hug her, but thought a lice expert might not appreciate the gesture.

Just like this...
She let us in and sat us down. She sprayed Berzo's head with detangler and ran a lice comb through her hair and wiped it on a paper towel. She walks over and shows me the myriad of lice bugs and eggs littered all over the towel.

“Oh, OK.”

She put a shower cap on Berzo to contain the zoo in her hair and checked me. She sprayed my hair down and ran the comb through a few times.  A paper towel appeared in my field of vision, “You have it too. See?”

“Oh, OK,” was all I said.

 Inwardly I was stunned as I watched the lice louses squirm in the sticky spray stuff.

That just came off my head!

On the flip side, it was nice to find out there was a problem moments before having it treated.

She deloused us both with oil and combing and combing and oil and more combing. My scalp felt bloody, but also kind of awesome, like it was a really thorough treatment.

Another person came in and she paused to help her. The phone rang. She answered it. Combing. Combing. Combing...

It took a long time. And then we were done.

I did some shopping. Lice Detection Kit—yes please. School and Play Spray refill—yes please. Comb for the neighbor boy who played with Berzo while she was infested—yes please. (That's the funnest part of lice, letting others know your bugs might have hitched a ride on their kid.) Prevention spray for her classroom—one of those too.

I gasped when I paid the bill. (It’s $100 per hour!) But she reminded me it comes with a 30 day guarantee; provided the other family members get checked. I scheduled their appointments then thanked her and left for home with a very oily head.

Berzo and I washed our hair, and washed it again. It actually felt quite luxurious afterwards.

Boots was horrified at the news that Berzo and I had lice, so I checked her hair with the new kit and couldn’t find anything. Charley shaved his head. I was a little jealous… They went in the next day and were both cleared.

We all attacked the house following the guidelines provided by Lice Knowing You. We were surprised to find out that lice in your environment is not all that much of concern. Any eggs that fall off die, because they need your body heat to incubate. Any bugs that fall off (they rarely do, holding on is their specialty) can barely move and begin to die within about 12 hours.

Reassuring as it all was, we still vacuumed everything, washed bedding, bagged teddy bears and moved all our couch cushions to the garage.

I brought Berzo back in the next morning to school with a clean head of shiny, spicy smelling, hair. The school nurse rechecked her and gave her the go-ahead to return to class. I brought her in and gave her teacher the School and Play Spray for which she was grateful and joked about spritzing the kids as they came in and out of the classroom.

I looked around and saw all that all the kids’ backpacks and coats were bagged. The fluffy green rug was gone. Most of the girls were in braids and pony tails. The boys had fresh looking short cuts.

Her teacher and I thought we’d seen the last of them.

We both reached up and scratched our heads a little. I wished her luck and left.


And then, like the Terminator, they were back.

I called the Beaverton office first thing in the morning and they are booked solid. She recommended I call their SE Portland office.

Through the tunnel! Arg!

We got appointments and all headed in to have our heads examined again.

She informed me that the head-check costs $15 per head and that any necessary treatments would be free.

“Can we skip the check and go right to treatment?”

I showed her the louse I saved in a plastic bag. She took it and gave it a good look, “Yep, that one of them. But, we don’t want to oil up your head unless there’s something left in there.”

“But we’re already so deep in this,” I said—pleaded.

She checks and her eyes widen when she sees our last transaction...

We waited for another family to be checked. Then it was our turn. She checked us all and we turned out to be clean. The re-infestation must have just gotten going.

I went up to pay for the head-checks and she waved me off, saying, “This one’s on the house.”

I tipped her anyway and thanked her for her help and we left. At home we repeated the vacuum, wash, bag.

And that was that.

I informed Berzo's teacher and she filled me in on the resurgence of lice in her room, despite all her preventative measures. "Stay strong," we told each other.


Now summer has summered. Fall has returned. The big yellow bus has swallowed up my kids and burps them back up for school. We’re working through our first set of cold viruses. Will the Lice Capades return?


Scratch, scratch.

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