For Poison Ivy, Home Remedies to Kill Anything

The only thing I knew about Poison Ivy, other than her rivalry with Batman, was that old rule of thumb: “Leaves of three, let it be.”

But in the brush-filled back lot we wanted to clear for a new swing set, it seemed everything came in threes – maples, oaks, gum trees, clover.

Then again, haven’t a lot of those rhyming rules been debunked? For instance, “Red wine in the morning, sailors take warning” and “Whiskey at night, sailor’s delight.” I’ve tested them out, and they’re just old wive’s tales.

So even though a neighbor cautioned us about the triple threat of poison ivy, oak and sumac, my husband and I put on some garden gloves and plunged in.

And other than squabbling over the proper assembly of the swing set by Flexible Flyer, which prints instructions exclusively in Aramaic, everything went fine. That is, until 48 hours later, when my husband’s forearms broke out in an itchy rash that quickly spread and began to ooze.

Now, I wouldn’t be the first neutral observer to wonder aloud whether men possess any threshold whatsoever for enduring discomfort. Or if, in fact, they experience the common sore throat, back ache or allergic rash the way others experience childbirth.

But that’s a story for another day. A day my husband is out of town. Suffice it to say, he was in enough distress from the poison ivy that friends, customers and even strangers who passed him in the street started offering him home remedies they swore would cure the rash, as if by magic.

My favorites, I think, were horse urine, supposedly a natural solvent to wash away the poison “urushoil,” and white shoe polish, which he was told contains a caking pipe clay similar to the drying agent in calamine. Because, as we know, calamine lotion is so expensive and hard to find.

But the sheer breadth of these folk cures – and the bizarre variety – has led me to two possible theories about the origins of home remedies.

The first, I call the “Drunken Hunting Trip Theory.” When a calamity occurs under fully anesthetized, but otherwise less than ideal circumstances, people improvise primitive first aid with the materials at hand.

Thus, the fellow who advised my husband to cauterize the rash by pouring gasoline on it and then lighting it on fire with a “poof,” being careful not to let the flame burn out of control. (As an analgesic, the same man recommended Texas Pete, which is also good in Bloody Marys.)

On the other hand, the “Drunken Hunting Trip” scenario might not explain the horse urine folk remedy, or another favorite of mine, treating poison ivy with meat tenderizer.

This leads to my second and more likely theory, the “Big Fat Greek Wedding Theory,” in honor of Michael Constantine’s Gus Portoka los, who sprayed Windex to cure everything from warts to rheumatism.

Here’s how this theory works:

1) Patient tests out home remedy because he happens to have it handy (e.g., baking soda, witch hazel, etc.) and it’s “just common sense” that it must work for something;

2) Home remedy neither kills patient nor lands him in the ER;

3) Ailment eventually goes away;

4) Patient concludes that home remedy did the trick and begins recommending this free miracle cure to others, who repeat the process.

There, in a nutshell, is the definition of “homeopathic” medicine – homeopathic being the fear, prevalent in men, that to seek a pharmacist’s advice in general, and to apply that pink calamine lotion in particular, is a humiliating and unmanly admission of defeat.

And rather than wear that badge of cowardice – or use Benadryl, Tecnu or the other shelf full of proven remedies – my husband has prolonged his agony with everything in the pantry.

Foaming peroxide made him grimace, the way Patrick Swayze did when stitching up his own knife wound in “Roadhouse.” More soothing was an oatmeal bath, but he slipped in the tub. Somebody suggested egg whites left to dry and form a crust, but the neighborhood cats followed him around. He’s now tried salt, lemon juice, even tequila.

Isn’t there a rhyme about that? Tequila at dawn, sailors be warned…

Contact Lorraine Ahearn at 373-7334 or [email protected] {SEND} YES