Head Case
Written By Nancy Pick
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The survivor's guide to lice.
(We hope you never need it.)
Download Wondertime's Lice Survival Guide
If you discover that your child has lice, here's what I'd recommend. Scream. Just scream and get it over with.
And then, perhaps, you can learn from my mistakes.
Last summer, my 12-year-old son Jacob came back from sleepaway camp with lice. I knew what to look for — the eggs, tiny white specks, glued to the hair shaft — because he'd had lice before, when he was 6.
I headed straight to the pharmacy. Last time I'd used Rid, a lice-killing shampoo. Jacob had a mild case back then, and a single shampooing did the trick, though I still had to remove the eggs, or nits. But I didn't feel great about applying an insecticide, the stuff I avoid putting on my lawn, to my child's head. Moreover, I knew that some lice have become resistant to pyrethrins, the neurotoxins derived from chrysanthemum plants that are the product's active ingredient.
So this time I decided (with a gulp) to try a nontoxic treatment called Licefreee (yes, three e's), which is essentially gelled salt. The gel immobilizes the lice so the salt can go to work dehydrating the adults and eggs. After leaving the treatment on Jacob's head for an hour, covered by a shower cap, Licefreee seemed to have killed all the adults.
Now I had to comb them out. The package comes with a metal nit comb that worked better than my old plastic one. When I first combed Jacob's hair, little brown insects fell into the sink. Sesame seeds with legs. Worse, some were bloody. That's because the human head louse, Pediculus humanus capitis, dines on only one food: human blood. (Scream again.)
Still, even with conscientious combing, some nits remained. We combed and combed, twice a day. We washed all his clothes, rolled up his bedroom rug, vacuumed, and changed his pillowcase daily. We had occasional setbacks, whenever we combed out a minuscule baby. Newly hatched. With tiny legs. (Tiny scream.)
I understood from my online research that head lice can only live on the human head. That's where they eat, mate, and lay their eggs. If we could comb out young lice before they could mate — lice do not reach sexual maturity until they are at least 9 to 12 days old — then we would ultimately win the battle.
After a week, the last signs of Jacob's lice were gone, though we continued to check his head. I felt triumphant. But I had made a terrible error.
Fast-forward two months. My 8-year-old son Milo was eating lunch at a Chinese restaurant when he started scratching. "My head has been really itchy lately," he announced.
My stomach sank. Maybe dandruff, I thought. With lice, there are endless opportunities for denial. Milo had a horrible case. Hundreds of nits. (Scream louder.) I'd gotten rid of the lice on one son, only to let them spread to the other! I'd stopped checking Milo's head far too soon. And worse, now they were all over the house. I had lice. Even my husband had a mild case.
I stocked up on Licefreee. I stripped all the beds and washed all the sheets. I washed everyone's clothes. My husband and I stuffed all our couch cushions, pillows, and comforters into garbage bags, where they would remain for two weeks, until the lice were dead. (Lice live no more than two days away from the human head, but the nits can take up to 10 days to hatch.)
And then I had to make those awful phone calls. We'd had three families over for dinner the night before. I had to call all of them with the, er, lousy news. I had to call the school, whose administrator said Milo would have to stay home until every last nit was gone. Unlike New York City public schools, which last fall began allowing children with nits (but not active adult lice) to remain in school, my son's school in Deerfield, Massachusetts, upholds a zero-tolerance policy. Luckily I work from home. Worst of all, I had to break the news to Milo's friend's mother, who is a clean freak. She reacted by spraying antilice insecticides all over her house. (This you should not do. Whatever your attitude toward antilice shampoos, the Centers for Disease Control website says: "Spraying the house is NOT recommended. Fumigants and room sprays can be toxic if inhaled or absorbed through the skin.") Not surprisingly, the friendship has been strained ever since.
Still, I understand why she sprayed. Lice carry a stigma. They're embarrassing. They make you feel unclean. Even though lice do not care whether you're dirty or clean, rich or poor. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, between 6 million and 12 million Americans (most under age 12) get head lice per year.
Five days after we first found Milo's lice, the school nurse examined his hair under a huge magnifying glass, declared him lice free, and let him back in school. I drove home and drank a glass of vodka, straight up.
