Don’t F with Bats
The only good thing that could come out of being in the same room as a bat is the possibility of becoming a vampire and finding the Edward to my Bella. But turns out finding a bat in your bathroom in the middle of the night does not lead to a dramatic romance with hot vampires and melancholy music.
I am a typically very paranoid person and the timing of finding a bat in my room could not have been worse. I had just gotten back in town from Colorado where my 9 hour car ride consisted of a marathon of the Crime Junkie podcast. For a paranoid person I sure do love hearing about young college women being kidnapped. It is 3:00 am Saturday morning and I am awoken by what I can only describe as someone slowly and creepily looking through a box of Legos. My sister isn’t home so I know it’s not her. Ollie is in his kennel (her dog, not my long lost brother we keep locked up). I turn my lamp on and look for any movement. My closet door that is connected to our finished attic is open and my mind starts to think worst case scenario. I am a goner, it’s my turn to be on the Crime Junkie podcast, hopefully it’s a good story. After about thirty minutes of silence filled with my heavy breathing and the Lego scratching noise I decide to call my Dad. My poor dad who is sound asleep a floor below me receives a frantic yet low whisper of a phone call, “Dad, come upstairs. There’s a noise that is sooooo creepy”. Yes, I am 21 years old, and No I am not ashamed that I called my dad because of a scary noise. My dad comes up a few moments later and looks around my room. During my thirty minutes of terror I had taken multiple videos of the noise to prove that I wasn’t insane, but of course as soon as my Dad entered my room the noise stopped. He looked around-NOTHING. He goes back to bed and I finally summon up the courage to pee after refusing to get out of my bed during the whole event. Even as an adult I find safety in hiding under my covers. I tip toe over to my bathroom that is connected to the shower/toilet that my sister and I share trying not to draw attention to myself in case the murderer is still in my room. For some reason I peered into my trashcan and there it was… A FREAKING BAT. Honestly, I wasn’t scared anymore I was just like oh shit let me take a picture for Snapchat. But I ran downstairs, told my Dad he needed to remove the bat from my trashcan ASAP. In true Dad heroic fashion he placed my bathroom rug over the trashcan and left it outside overnight. The bat was gone in the morning. The scratching Lego sound turned out to be the bat trying to get out of the mountain of old contact lens cases that I had thrown away. Don’t worry I finally peed! Back to bed I went with a fun story to tell my roommates back at school.
The next morning I had plans to go to the pool with my friends but my dear mother apparently cares about my well being and told me I needed to check myself for bat bites. I didn’t find any but she was concerned that we didn’t know how long the bat had been in my room or if it had bit me and I just couldn’t find the marks. The issue with bats is that they can carry rabies which if left untreated is fatal to humans. My Saturday morning quickly turned into calling doctors asking about rabies shots and if they are necessary and my mom trying to convince my Dad that I should go to the doctor. Finally, my doctor said he recommends that I get the rabies shots because it’s better to be safe than sorry. We called the hospital to confirm they had rabies shots available on Monday and told them we would come into the emergency room Monday morning for the first round. The whole process of telling a doctor you need/want the rabies shot sequence is almost comical. I was basically asking for a treatment that I didn’t need, but if they told me not to get them, they would be liable for my tragic rabies death. They handed me this paperwork with information about rabies featuring pictures of raccoons and bats. The worst part was sitting on the triage bed in the emergency room in the middle of a global pandemic and the doctor asking me where the bat bite was. “Yeah no I don’t have a bite”. OK… well was the bat flying around or did it touch you? “No, I think it was dying in my trashcan”. OK… This conversation is occurring while I hear an elderly woman on the other side of the curtain describing her COVID-19 symptoms. And then the doctor asked me if I had the bat. I was like Um, do I have the bat? Yeah it’s in my purse next to my gum and tampons. No I didn’t keep the bat!
I got 3 shots that morning and then went back every Monday morning for the next 4 weeks. Thank goodness I had gotten over my fear of shots around the age of 15 because something about getting 8 shots that you literally don’t need is a little annoying. But I appreciate my mom and the nurses who supported me through the process. Healthcare workers are even more heroic than my bat-removing Dad. It’s kind of funny, I kept telling people that I was getting rabies shots but no one really understood that I was actually getting rabies shots. I feel bad for the real rabies victims. Are you out there? Are you OK? Should we start a support group?
I guess now I can say I’m a rabies survivor, advocate, hater? Whatever I am, I am officially rabies free, deathly afraid of going into my bathroom and still waiting for the attractive vampire community in Kansas City to find me and whisk me away.
