Genesis Part 1

The very first time I attempted to sting myself, I tried using dead bees.  Neither Earl nor I knew anything about BVT (Bee Venom Therapy) except that such a thing existed, and that it had applications in treating rheumatoid arthritis.   I guess that was probably in November or December  before I'd bought any instructional books or found anything very helpful on the internet.  Earl said that one of his other friends would occasionally come over and collect the dead bees for medicinal purposes.


We gathered some dead bees into a glass jelly jar, and Earl showed me how to squeeze the abdomen to get the stinger to come out.  I couldn't really see it...I thought for a second that I could, but then I wasn't sure ...  But he assured me that the stinger is like a very very fine barbed hair, and if I put the bee's back end up to my skin and squeezed, that the stinger would hook me, and I'd be harpooned just like a great white whale.

So I brought my jar of dead bees home, and placed it on the kitchen table.  Where it sat unopened for several days.   I could feel my enthusiasm for BVT waning every time I sat down for breakfast.

But I finally summoned the strength of stomach to open the jar.  I scattered a few bees on the surface of the table (which is really a hospital gurney with a thick piece of glass laid on top).  I looked at them.  They, of course, did not look back at me.  They were also slightly dirty from being dead on the ground outside for who knows how long before I picked them up.   

I pushed one around a few inches with my index finger.  I held my breath and picked one up by the wings, trying to come into as little contact with the insect's body as possible, and then I put it back down.  "X!  I need you to come over here and sit next to me!"

X looked over my shoulder.  "That's disgusting.  What are you supposed to do with those again?"

"Squeeze their butts until the stinger comes out. "

X pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.  "I gotta see this."

I picked up another bee, this time by its body.  Gently, I squeezed the abdomen.  A miniscule drop of liquid appeared at the end of the bee's body.  I squeezed a little harder.  Some brown goo came out and dropped onto the table.  I dropped the bee which landed in the brown goo.  X and I both looked at each other and cringed simultaneously.

"I don't think that's what's supposed to happen," he said.

"You try it."

X picked up a non-mangled bee, and squeezed it's butt.  More brown goop came out.  Both of us shuddered, and X pretended to vomit on the table.

"I think Earl is going to have to do this," I said.

"I think you're supposed to use live bees."

"No you aren't.  Earl said that his friend comes up and collects the dead ones, and she uses them to sting herself."

I used a piece of paper to scrape the rest of the bees back into the jar,  wiped up the mess with a paper towel, and put the jar on the back porch where I wouldn't have to look at it at the same time that I was looking at raisins in my oatmeal.

 photo credit: http://bean-sprouts.blogspot.com/