This poem was written by a Bedbugger named Louise and posted in our forums. It recounts her experience with bed bugs this past Christmas. I am reposting it here, with Louise’s permission.
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: Bed bug Remix
‘Twas the night before Christmas.
Somewhere in my house
A creature was stirring, and ‘twas no mere mouse.
Clothing lay scattered o’er the floor without care
Since our earlier guests were no longer there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
And no visions of bed bugs danced in their heads.
The mister in his jammies and I with my book
Had jumped into bed with nary a look.
As I scratched a vague itch, my hand felt a splatter
And I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I flung back the blankets and I glanced at my arm,
And with surreal dread, my mind rang an alarm!
Bloody bug guts on my arm and what else did I see
But a small red-brown appleseed scampering o’er the sheets!
My mind flashed back to earlier that night
When I spied my nephew scratching…a bite?
“What’s that on your arm, dear boy? Why do you itch?”
“Bed bug bites,” he replied. “They sure are a b****.”
And now, my heart sinking, it seemed we had them, too,
Brought in with the gifts? On his coat? In his shoe?
Aaaaagggghhhh! Their coats! Their coats! They were laid on the bed!
Why hadn’t we hung them in the closet instead!?!
Or sealed them in a bag placed out on the porch!?!
Or thrown them in the dryer with the setting on ‘scorch’!?!?!
I glared at the bug, my eyes narrowed with hate;
Bed bugs for Christmas? Oh, this was just great!
I snatched it right up with a clear piece of tape
And ziplocked it securely so it would never escape!
I went for the Raid can to use on his friends…
…then I stopped as I thought of the best means to their end.
Bedbugger.com had taught me a great deal;
I knew Raid wouldn’t keep me from being their meal.
I drew up a list as I planned my next move;
I’d learned there were some things I just should not do:
Foggers and Raid cans, sleeping in another room
Were just likely to spread them and add to my gloom.
So on my list went a steamer (the Enviromate E3),
A flashlight and a respirator for the freshwater DE;
Plastic bins and more Ziplocs in all sizes and shapes,
Climb-Ups and encasements and more packing tape.
Rubbing alcohol and Benadryl and Murphy’s Oil Soap,
Clear garbage bags and a loupe or pocket microscope;
A truckload of caulking and a dripless gun,
And I was ready to start the extermination!
My vacuum in hand, I prepared to begin
When one last piece of advice finally sank in:
Did I know what I was doing? Could I find where they hide
Or might I end up spreading them (gulp!) far and wide?
So I reached for the phone book and looked up the name
Of the PCO in my town most adept at this game;
I wanted my victory to be decisive and fast
And that meant finding the one who was up for this task.
I dialed the number and I asked, “Can you help?”
Despair in my voice at the hand I’d been dealt;
“You bet,” he replied. “I’ll be there A.S.A.P.!
We WILL kill those buggers! You WILL be free!”
I washed and I dried and I packed and decluttered
As I wept and I prayed, as I swore and I muttered.
My family and friends were sure I’d lost my mind;
“Ignorance is bliss,” I’d tell them, time after time.
And then we were ready, the prep was all done;
We lacked sleep, we lacked vigor – this was simply not fun.
Our drawers were all empty, our bookshelves were bare,
Our house a disaster, but we didn’t care!
“JUST KILL THOSE DARNED BUGS – EVERY LAST ONE!!!! Please.”
I calmly requested as I fell to my knees,
For our PCO had arrived and stood at the door;
He looked at my trapped bug, confirmed, “Bed bug for sure.”
He was dressed all in Tyvek from his neck to his feet,
The nicest PCO you could ever hope to meet;
Changing into sterile clothes after quick cleansing showers,
We left him to his work for a number of hours.
When we returned, he told us, “Now you’ll be bait
For these miserable bloodsuckers we all love to hate.
Sleep in your own beds so they’ll poison themselves;
I’ll spray again in two weeks, then you can fill up your shelves.”
Then he stopped, and he turned, and in one swift, smooth action
He brought forth the most wondrous of this world’s contraptions.
“What is it?” I asked, not believing my eyes.
“Your stuff’s freedom from its 18-month prison,” he replied.
“A PACKTITE!” I cried. “Can it really be true!?!”
“It is,” he grinned, “and this one’s for you!”
I paid him for his work and for some precious peace of mind,
I thanked him (from a distance), then I bade him good-bye.
I set up my Packtite and I started to bake
My books and my shoes, my papers, my tapes.
I knew we weren’t finished with these bugs, not by far,
But I felt pretty certain we’d made a good start.
So I climbed into bed, awaiting the next bite,
By my bedside some tape and my trusty flashlight;
We had done all we could, we had fought the good fight,
And someday we would once more sleep through the night.
Thanks, Louise, for sharing your story and your talent with us!