Back in the '80s, I was part of a generation of schoolchildren who lined up in front of the nurse's office to have our little noggins checked for lice. The nurses used elongated toothpicks to part our hair and search for those blood-hungry bugs. If one of us would be sent home for the day, we'd know that kid had lice.
Routine head checks aren't so common in school settings anymore, and that's not the only thing that's changed. Schools and health providers are more conscious about the social stigma of lice, which is reassuring. But on the other hand, over-the-counter shampoos designed to kill the pests aren't as effective as they once were.
I've been on a learning spree about head lice in recent weeks, and it's not by coincidence. Here's the thing about these pervasive parasites: You never think about them unless you have to.
Well, I've had to.
Since my positive confirmation a few weeks ago, I've tried to remain a rational adult. But as anyone who's dealt with head lice will tell you, the lice on your head have a way of getting in your head.
I've washed and dried dozens of loads of laundry on the highest heat settings, vacuumed and re-vacuumed couch cushions and car seats, stripped and restripped bedsheets and pillowcases, and froze my hairbrushes for six nights — and then threw them in a pot of boiling water for good measure, only to melt some of them.
I've read all of the advisories assuring me that lice won't spread disease, and that they typically die off after a day or two after falling off the scalp. But it didn't stop my unraveling.
How could I not be grossed out?