"Poison Control?" "This Is Judah's Mom Again..."

So I was loading the dishwasher when I see our toddler son Judah walking past in his onesie pajamas (to which he'd added his sneakers minus socks), marching with determination towards our front door, a book in hand.

"What are you doing, Judah?" I asked mildly as he passed by.

"I kee-o da thpie-dough." (Which, for those of you who may be rusty with your interpretation of toddler-speak, means, "I kill the spider.")

Instantly, I was in full alert mode.

"What spider?" I asked, slightly freaking out that some big bad spider had managed to get past my keen spider radar into my domain.

Judah runs to the front door and squats down to the corner behind where our front door opens, and points.

Sure enough, hanging from what looked to be the beginnings of a little web near the floor behind one of daddy's shoes is a dark colored spider about the diameter of a penny all told.

But at first glance, it looked dark enough to be a smaller black widow, and seemed to have the same familiar outline.

Not caring for a moment about his early childhood Samurai training, my motherly instincts flared, and I snatched the book from him and promptly squished the spider into a little grease spot on the wall. *shudders*

"Mama killed the spider," I stated. Then, as a precaution, I added, "Never, EVER touch the spiders, Judah. Okay?" Bugs are one thing, but I figure he needs to know a fear of touching the spiders with his fingers like he needs to know a fear of touching a hot flame.

"O-kay, mama."

Fifteen minutes later, after a couple other menial household chores, I sat down to log onto my computer.

Judah walked up and said, "I hoe-d you?"

I picked him up and set him on my lap, and he's inspecting the palms of his hands.

"Do we need to wash your hands?" I asked, noting they were kind of dirty from his recent stint with markers.

At that moment, he uttered words that I never knew were capable of such a complete physical, emotional and even psychological reaction in me.

"Da thpie-dough bite me, mama."

Almost instantly, my blood ran cold. I suddenly felt clammy, sweaty and more than a little panicked all at the same time.

"Where? Show mama where the spider bit you!"

He seemed to be favoring one hand, and held it up for my inspection.

"Show mama."

He held up the palms of both hands, not understanding that I needed to know the specific location of the bite.

So I pointed to my own hand with my index finger (demonstrating) and asked, "Where did the spider bite you on your hand?"

And then he pointed to a spot on the pudgy part of his hand just below his index finger.

And there was what looked to be a tiny pin-prick of a scab...or, yes, what looked suspiciously like a spider bite!

I freaked out. "Is that where the spider bit you?" I asked, trying to ascertain the truth from toddler exaggerations.

He nodded, then jumped down off my lap to go play, oblivious to my concern.

My blood, having already run cold, was now surging through my veins, adrenaline pulsing through my spine. What should I do?

So I promptly called my husband, who with our son Jericho had gone to take Uncle Butch out for his birthday.

"I think Judah's been bit by a black widow!" I said, fearfully, and launched into the story.

"Oh, man..." he said. "How big was it? You're sure it was a black widow? Is he in pain? He'd probably be in pain if it bit him. When my dad got bit that time he was in immediate pain, and his hand swelled up and he had to cut off his wedding ring..."

Scenarios were suddenly running through my panic-filled head.

Adults, I knew, could survive black widow bites...but could a two-and-a-half year old child? And what if it wasn't a black widow, but the dreaded brown recluse?!"

My mind strayed to a horrific e-mail circular with some guys gnarly looking gangrenous hand, which was nearly lost due to a virulent infection caused by the brown recluse bite. And then this recent post by one of my favorite Missionary bloggers Jackie.

I felt a cold sweat on my neck. "What should I do?!" I asked, my fear running away with me.

"Call Dr. Mike first" he said, calmly. It might be nothing to worry about at all. If you're still worried, then go to the E.R.."

In his mind, E.R.'s are really more for mom's that need to be convinced not to worry than they are for the actual patient with a health concern. He, meanwhile, was calm as could be, not a bit worried.

"Humph" I mumbled. Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one sitting here looking into our son's big brown eyes, worrying that a spider bite might kill him at any moment, and that time was of the essence.

And horror of horrors, I wasn't even dressed for the day yet, which could mean further delays! I got off the phone, dashed in to get dressed just in case I would need to rush Judah to the E.R., praying fervently as I pulled on my clothes.

Should I call my mother-in-law to borrow her stun-gun (which she takes on evening walks) to shock the site of the bite? (And before you laugh, I've heard of this from a couple of independent sources now, and know that there are missionaries in the Amazon and Africa that for years have used these or similar devices to prevent ill-effects from venomous bites.)

In spite of my fears, that seemed a bit extreme for a toddler.

Then I remembered in a nutritional and remedies book that those who have been bitten by a black widow should be given a large dose of vitamin C right away and then every couple of hours afterwards (to keep the vitamin in their bloodstream to help combat the venom). The only problem was, I wasn't sure if the 2,000 mgs of Vitamin C was for an adult dose, or would be okay for a child, too.

I suddenly thought to call my sister Jami, who I was sure would remember the exact amounts.

Sadly, I'd forgotten that they were out of town. But my brother was there house-sitting, and so I told him the story.

"I'd go online..."

"I don't have time!" I said, panic rising. "I've got to get him to the E.R."

"Maybe just call poison control first" he said, his usual calm, reasonable way. "They'll know whether or not it's cause for concern."

Oh, yes. I hadn't thought of that.

"Okay. Bye."

Before I forgot, however, I went ahead and got out the vitamin C crystals I often add to fruit smoothies, poured 2,000 mgs worth in a spoon along with a little water, and spooned it into Judah's mouth. A necessary precautionary measure.

He looked up at me with a sour face, wondering what he'd done to deserve having to take such icky medicine. I gave him some juice to wash it down.

I flipped through my phone book, then the yellow pages, trying to find the number. Where were the emergency numbers listed, anyway?

And why in the world hadn't I programmed that one into my cell phone after his last stint with poison control?

I called information, and was promptly connected.

I explained the whole story and gave his age, explaining about how after the spider was already dead, he'd examined his hands and said the spider had bitten him.

When she could get finally get a word in edgewise, she asked all kinds of ominous questions like, "Was the spider shiny and black? How big was it? Did you get a good look at the spider?"

Cold fingers of dread gripped my spine. "I didn't look at it that carefully before I killed it, but it was dark, and my initial thought before I squished it to oblivion was that it did seem to have the same outline as a black widow, though it was about the size of a penny, not big like the full grown black widow that was in or garage a couple of weeks ago."

Calmly she explained that if he had been bitten by a black widow, he would have felt pain right away. It might increase, and if that were to happen within the next two hours, I should take him to the E.R. to get a treatment for the pain and swelling. But if he didn't seem to be in any pain or discomfort, I likely didn't have anything to worry about.

It seems the poor little Black Widow has gotten a bad rap, and that their bite doesn't usually kill anyone. Not even young children. It just makes them feel a whole lotta pain, and maybe some swelling."

The woman's calm, professional demeanor set my mind at ease.

And so, though it was long past his naptime, I kept Judah up until I was sure he was not in any pain, and didn't have any swelling.

And darned if that spider bite didn't look a whole lot more like a freckle when I got a really good look at it.

And when I went and looked at the remains (legs) of the spider (still stuck to the wall) with a flashlight, I realized they were more brown striped, not black.

And I sighed in relief.

And suddenly I felt like a total dork, having gotten all worked up into a dither over nothing. No wonder I'm getting so many grays so fast!

**Note to self: Don't ever, ever watch Arachnophobia again!**