Utter bliss. This is the only way I can describe what it felt like to sit with my toes buried deep in the smooth sand of Coligny Beach. The soft swell of the waves was a calming crescendo in the soundtrack of my life, and the perfect backdrop to the novel I happened to be reading that day. I was in heaven, and now I even have a subtle glow to prove that my pale complexion can in fact reach a maximum of five on the bronze scale. However, I did not reach this level of tan – which is pretty good considering my translucent starting point – without a few obstacles along the way. Like I said before, it wouldn’t be a classic family road trip if things didn’t go wrong, and I happened to be the intelligent human who jinxed herself and became the victim of things taking a turn for the worst.

After one glorious day lathered in SPF 50 under the blazing southern sun, I began to experience an irritation that looked similar to poison ivy. Only I could spend six hours on the beach and leave with an unwanted and completely unexpected rash. I looked like I had rolled around in a patch of poisoned greenery. Naturally, I made a quick trip to the store to grab an anti-itch cream, hoping that the diseased areas would clear up by the next morning. I was not missing out on beach day two.

I awoke the next morning to find that the irritation had subsided substantially, but there was still evidence of its existence. However, I was determined to get in another tanning session, so I lathered on even more of that SPF 50 and began to bake. A few hours later, I happened to glance down at my thighs and noticed an even more intense reaction spreading across my legs. I then reached across my upper body to scratch my arm and felt that the raised irritation had made its way to my underdefined biceps. And then it began to itch. At this point I was at my wits end, and not long after discovering that I was now a walking disease, I left the beach. On the ride back to the hotel, the itching became unbearable and it was beginning to spread to my abdomen and back. I knew what I had to do, and I was not thrilled about the choice I had to make because I had a sinking feeling that my day was going to get weirder by the minute. I decided a trip to an Urgent Care was the only way to eradicate the skin irritation, so I pulled up the GPS and headed to the place that would inevitably take my money and tell me what I already knew.

Upon arrival, I had to fill out a stack of medical forms that ask questions I will most likely never know the answer to. Who honestly knows the medical history of every significant member of their family, because I know I sure as heck do not? Once I handed in the forms and payed the copay, I sat in the waiting area for about a half hour, and then I was called back into an examination room where I would sit for forty minutes with nothing to do besides stare at the odd artwork of trees and various patterns hung on the mint green walls. I happened to leave my phone with my family in the waiting room like an idiot, and the magazines were too far from the chair I was perched on. I’m not sure what it is with the nurses I’ve encountered, but they always manage to elevate the chair to the highest setting so it’s like jumping off a cliff when the time comes to exit the room. I was not taking the risk because I wouldn’t want my luck to run out completely and break an ankle while in the examination room. Now, that would be a story to tell.

When the "good" doctor finally entered the room, something in my gut told me that he was going to be a creep. All he had to do was take one look at me, and that’s when I knew I would be telling the tale for all you wonderful readers. The doctor was attempting to rock silver hair, glasses, and a wedding ring on his wrinkly left hand, and he looked to be in his fifties, which as we all know by now is the target age for unwarranted flirtatious and overtly personal advances. He began asking personal questions ranging from why I was in town and where I went to college. I’m not even sure how we arrived there, but I made it pretty apparent that I wanted him to assess the damage, write me a script, and send me on my merry way.

He then proceeded to touch the irritation on my arm without asking permission first while he was still attempting to probe into my life, which was another oddity. He began pacing and explaining the options while staring at me with his squinty brown eyes framed by wire rimmed glasses not far from the original design of Harry Potter’s famously circular specs. By the time the encounter was coming to a long-awaited close, I discovered that I am allergic to the sunscreen I had been using, and that being in the direct sunlight for two solid days had escalated the reaction to a point of mass destruction for my appearance. Mind you, I had to attend a Marine boot camp graduation the next morning looking like a swollen version of my normal self in ninety degree weather for about two hours in the direct sunlight. I was definitely a sight for sore eyes, and not in a good way.

Three days of a steroid and Benadryl concoction later, and I’m almost irritation free. I’m starting to look like my average self once again, and the copious amount of coffee I’ve consumed in the past few days has gotten me through this bout of bad luck. I always manage to make it over the obstacles, and I hope I don’t have to visit an Urgent Care ever again because I’m not sure I can handle another episode of the creepy doctor. From now on I will also be swatching sunscreens so that I can manage potential allergic reactions; there is no reason to put my body through that mess again. I don’t even know if coffee could get me through another round. I’d have to tap out and sit in the shade until the disease faded and I was clear to soak up the sun once again.