Maya’s head was teeming. Teeming. They were floating on top of her head, ready to jump, afraid to jump, but itching to get away. Sorry – forgive the pun. It was just ugliness – ugliness and hilarity all rolled together into one exhausting day.
It all started last Wednesday when I finally overcame my own denials and looked through her hair. She had been complaining of her head itching for a day or two, and earlier that day, I had seen her scratching the back of her head, exactly where I had been feeling tortured. It was odd… I had even told myself it could be genetic that we both get dry scalp at the same place. But when the little voice inside me said don’t be lazy, I put her head down onto the kitchen table, right beneath the blaring lamp – and within seven strokes, had in front of me a six-legged invader, who, along with his mates and kin, would bring down the house the next day.
Maya had head lice. I was sure to have them. Aanika and Anjali were suspect, but since they hadn’t complained, I thought they may have escaped. Srini was traveling – safely out of reach of their crawl. If he acquired them before he left, he would certainly find out while he was there.
I hated to have them miss school. More importantly, I hated to miss my morning off from them. So I tried to gauge if it would be possible for me to treat them at night, and send them off to school in the morning. It would be brilliant. But it was 9 p.m., the kids were in bed, and who would get the medicine? I certainly
couldn’t call the elementary school friends… They would freak! Jeff was traveling, Aarti wasn’t home; Allen offered to bring over the goods, but I couldn’t put him through the drive. So I waited until tomorrow.
Through the night, I jumped at Anjali’s every move (at 2, she still sleeps in our bed!). If she moved her hand, I followed it to see if it was headed for her head. If she twitched I wondered if she was being eaten as she lay there. Maya came to our bed to snuggle with me, and I sent her back, not wanting to share my space with her cooties. My whole body itched.
Morning brought some relief. The girls were oblivious to the vermin, only buoyant from getting a gratuitous day off. There was none of the usual rush to change, brush, wash, eat, and leave the house. Instead, they meandered lazily into the kitchen, ate dreamily, and only then, when they realized that today was not a weekend day, that this was a present Santa had dropped off belatedly, did they start frolicking. They watched morning cartoons in their pajamas until 9:30, while I perused websites for any information I could find on
the creepy matter.
By 11, we had made a trip to the pharmacy and were armed. We had medicine, combs, changes of clothes, and most of all, resolve. Or should I say, I had resolve. They had the giggles. Aanika and Anjali weren’t yet bothered by the infestation – for them it was always very mild, and Maya, though irritated with the itching, was more cheered by the outing and the attention than sobered by the reality. I had them all strip own, first the younger two, and shampoo their hair, as instructed by Nix, and then Maya.
Then I rubbed the cream rinse all over their heads, reminding them all the while to keep their hands off heir heads. For the omni-nibbler Aanika, it was tough to avoid putting her hair in her mouth, let alone avoid touching it. The box said “keep the cream rinse on for 10 minutes, but no longer.” Fearing that their hair might spontaneously combust at the eleventh minute, I timed them with a stop watch, shoving them under the shower at the stroke of ten.
Showered, deloused, and much relieved, I called the school principal. Mrs. F said “you’ve done the treatment, now send them to school tomorrow.” The pediatrician blessed the return as well. The whole house – even I – was all smiles. That is, until I started combing through their hair. Much to my shock, they were alive–and in a panic. The lice were jumping on top of their heads, as if it was on fire. They couldn’t quite hang on to the hair, in fact, and were falling off in numbers. (For those of you who haven’t seen lice crawling around on your children’s head, let me tell you, these things were not meant to be seen. Few sites are as revolting.) I moved the girls to the bathroom with the white marble floor – so the escapees wouldn’t go unnoticed. After a massive combthrough, where Maya evicted 25 squatters, and Aanika and Anjali and I about an average of four each, we called the doctor again. Nix them again, he said, but this time leave it on for a couple of hours.
So leave it we did. For two hours, the girls and I sported slimy heads covered with pink and yellow shower caps. We literally fumigated our heads. And when we rinsed off the second time around, there was nothing left alive for miles. Well, nothing but nits. Nits nits nits.
Srini mercifully cut short his late conference and came home by 7:30 p.m. He found us after the second de-lousing. We were told there might be eggs, so it was time to pick those nits. There’s a time and place for everything, as they say, and that day I saw the time and place for Srini’s “nit-picking” ways. We started with the youngest. She was easy. Her hair still downy and sparce and head still miniature, she got a clean bill within minutes. Aanika also received her acquittal without much court time. Maya, though, had a long night ahead of her.
We needed bright lighting, and the brightest happened to be in the laundry room. So we sat there for an hour and a half, Maya’s head slung over her dad’s knee, four hands and four eyes finding and plucking out “nitty” hair. It was an oddly satisfying “family time,” — and perhaps these are the words of someone in desperate need for a more exciting life — but even Maya, eyes drooping, had a slight smile on her face. She probably couldn’t remember the last time she had both our undivided attention.
As we search through their heads every night now, and as the revulsion and the paranoia slowly fade, what remains is a surprising blessing: the children with their heads in our laps, reveling in the touch of our fingers through their hair. As Aanika put it yesterday when I said, “Aanika, you’re fine, I don’t see anything in your head,” She replied, “Keep looking. I’m sure you’ll find a whole family of headlights.”
