The Case of the Mysterious Pink Lava I knew the night would be memorable. Little did I know… It was a dark and stormy night. Ok, not really. It was dark—nights usually are—but it wasn’t stormy. Just cold. Really cold. It had been cold all day, or week, for that matter, and every heater in the city was running at its full capacity. In the schools, especially. Japanese junior high schools don’t have the same heating systems that I’m used to—only specific rooms are heated, some more than others, and the hallways remain the same temperature as the outside air—therefore I am thankful for the heaters that we do have. Especially when I have to sit still for an hour or so—I always place myself as close to the heater as possible. Yesterday was no exception. When we had to give a speaking test to 30 7th graders, I chose the seat closest to the blazing furnace as I could. I noticed afterwards that I was a little itchy, but didn’t think much of it. During cleaning time after school, however, the itching seemed to intensify, and, thinking maybe my sequin-adorned scarf was irritating my neck, I removed it before helping a class broom and mop their classroom. That seemed to help lessen the tickly feeling, so I didn’t notice the tiny bumps until later in the evening, when I was getting ready for the long-anticipated concert. I had been looking forward to this event for about 4 months—an evening of shamisen, a traditional Japanese stringed instrument, played by the world-renown Yoshida brothers (They're even in our textbooks!). I wanted to look extra-special for the evening, so I traded in my snow-suit-resembling get-up for a more sophisticated look, and took extra time straightening my hair. As I was arranging my new satin headband, though (compliments of Lis), I noticed a few bumps on my hands and forearms. “That’s odd,” I thought. “Probably from the dry air. My skin doesn’t like this dry winter thing very much.” So, hoping for a quick solution, I lathered on some lotion before running out the door and hopping into Tamaki sensei’s toasty car. “Good evening. Sure is cold, isn’t it?” she remarked as she fidgeted with the heater and turned the nob all the way into the “red” section. “Sure is,” I replied. I sank into her cushion-covered passenger seat and soon we were absorbed in a conversation involving Japanese traditional music, boys, and anything else that happened to cross our minds on the 30-minute drive to Koriyama. But as the little pink car wound through the narrow, serpentine streets, I couldn’t help but notice that the warmer the air (and, therefore, I) got, the more the raised little dots on my wrists seemed to itch. By the time we reached the concert hall and found our seats, I was grateful for a chance to take my coat off and roll up my sleeves to allow the increasingly tingly bumps, and now splotches, to cool down. The concert began with a man—clad in a leather vest-like shirt and traditional baggy Japanese pants, back to the audience—raising his brawny arms high over head, and with two thick, foot-long rods, “Bouuuuuum,” striking the elevated, side-turned taiko with his full strength. I have a weakness for Japanese drumming, and I find it entirely captivating to watch, so although I enjoyed the Yoshida brothers’ skillful fingers rapidly plucking out both traditional and modern melodies, it was the dynamic, almost dance-like strokes of the drummer that held my attention most of the night. But even watching live taiko couldn’t entirely remove from my awareness the itching, and the sensation that although it originally contained itself to my hands and wrists, it might be spreading up my arms…and may have traveled to my legs as well. I kept my sleeves rolled up through most of the concert, hoping that cooling them off a bit might decrease the bumpage. After about 2 hours of an absolutely breathtaking performance, we left the concert in quite high spirits, discussing music tastes and various Japanese traditional instruments. It was chilly outside, but I was grateful for the cool air. Apparently, though, Tamaki sensei wasn’t so grateful for it, or maybe she was being sensitive, aware that I am always cold, but either way, on the way home, she turned the heat up as far as it could go, and we drove home in a sauna of a car. “Let’s go to dinner,” she suggested. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, especially since she had planned and paid for the whole evening, I agreed, hoping that I’d be able to hide any visible red splotches or (now) bulges. A few minutes, later, though, she accidentally made a wrong turn, and changed her mind, a decision for which I will be grateful for a very long time. For, as we drove, I knew the rash was spreading rapidly, and all I could think about was finding relief as soon as I got back. I thought about different solutions to the problem, and the most logical one that I could think of was to find Adriane. She always has anti-allergy medicine with her because she’s allergic to fish—not exactly the best thing to be allergic to when you live on an island (in fact, it’s amazing she’s still alive…). As soon as we reached the apartments, I said a hurried goodbye to Tamaki sensei, and, despite my toothpick heels, ran to the nearest apartment to find Adriane. I reached Tammy and Lis’ first. Bursting through the door and tripping over piles of shoes in the genkan, I feverishly beseeched the group Bible study meeting, “Does ANYBODY have Benadryl?!!! I need it NOW!!!” I pulled up my right shirt sleeve to reveal the splotches that now covered at least half of my skin between elbow and hand. Tammy jumped up, grabbing a little bottle from her cupboard, and rushed over to dump a pile of tiny pink and white pills into my hand. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I ran back out to go to my own apartment, sleeve still rolled up, and it wasn’t until then that I really saw what was torturing me. Tammy and Lis’ apartment had been rather dark, but outside under the hall’s florescent lights, I could see the reddening inflammation. The bumps and splotches had begun to swell so much that they were running together, and now looked like a pinkish lava slowly oozing its way around my arm. An involuntary exclamation of shock escaped my lips as I ran up the stairs to my apartment. Once inside, not knowing what else to do, I changed into a tank top and shorts so that my limbs could cool off. Then I looked in the mirror. All down my entire arms and legs, tingling pink lava oozed. Up my shoulders, down my back, everywhere the rash had spread, causing agony everywhere it went. I grabbed my phone. “Tammy, can you bring some girls up here to pray for me? Uh…this is pretty bad.” Within two minutes Carrie, Tammy and Lis were upstairs, and after I popped two Benadryl, following Lis’ home remedy instructions to coat the blotches with a mixture of baking soda and water. When we were through, looking like an Aborigine covered in white mud, I tiptoed my way to the bed, dropping chunks of baking soda paste in a mini white trail behind me. Then the girls prayed for me. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciated it. By all accounts, the rash seemed to be some sort of allergic reaction, but I hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary all day. I hadn’t even had seafood (quite amazing for an entire day). As they were praying, it came out that other people on the team have been feeling strangely ill recently too, and it was suspected that maybe what I and maybe other people on the team were facing was a spiritual attack. I don’t claim to know when and where I can call something a “spiritual attack,” but I do know that I can’t link the rash to anything except possibly heat rash…and if it was heat rash, it was a WOPPING case of it. Our group has been involved in a lot of community activities—“ministry” and “non-ministry” alike, and it’s possible that our enemy isn’t too happy about it right now. I’m not definitely saying it was brought on by evil forces, but I certainly think it’s a possibility. After praying, calling my doctor in America, another coat of baking soda paste, waking up our resident allergy specialist (Adriane), considering a shot with an Epipen, and me popping another Benadryl, Tammy generously offered to spend the night on my floor as an “on call nurse.” By this time I could hardly keep my eyes open (for those of you who have taken Benadryl—especially THREE—know what I’m talking about), so after I saw that some of the swelling was subsiding, at 12:15 we crashed. This morning I’m glad to say, I woke up better, with only a few red spots on my arms and knees. I went to school, hoping it would get progressively better, but, to be honest, it (the rash, that is) seems that it wants to stick around—popping up here and there—even on the palms of my hands, and then disappearing just as mysteriously as it showed up. My tricep-area is the presently tortured locale, which is particularly frustrating when you are wearing 3 long underwear shirts and a thick wool sweater (remember what I said about Japanese school building heat…). And…I still have no idea what caused it all. If you think of it, I’d ask for your prayers—that if it is something spiritual, that it would be ousted, and if not, that we’d be able to solve… ...The Case of the Mysterious Pink Lava