NITS

It started with a mild irritation of the scalp. Colleagues who had noticed me subconsciously scratching at my head jokingly asked if I had nits. It was only after I had this pointed out that I became aware of it myself. It must have been some thirty years since I had had nits. I have vague memories of my father combing through my hair with his pocket comb, looking for lice. I was sure that as in the past, a little shampooing would sort out this minor problem. Lloyds chemist (there are a number of other chemists available on the high street) were only too happy to supply me with nit shampoo and the bottle came with a nifty little blue nit comb. Quite how I had come by the parasites was a mystery to me. As far as I was aware my head had only come into contact with that of my wife's for the previous four years. I shuddered to think of the possible points of contamination. I promised myself to always demand a clean head-rest cover on future trips by public transport. I also decided that from now on I would always travel first-class, (better not to be swapping lice with the proletariat.) The next day I was disappointed to find myself still scratching, nevertheless, I was sure that another nit shampoo treatment would be the answer. Sadly it was not. Neither was a third nor fourth attempt. Consultation with the pharmacist concerning a friend of mine who had tried a certain remedy that hadn't worked resulted in my being sold a different brand of treatment. Strangely, the same chemicals in this slightly smaller bottle with a different brand name, (though costing a third more than the previous treatment,) had little effect in reducing the problem. If anything the situation had exacerbated. I was being driven crazy by the desire to scratch. It was frankly disgusting that in this sanitised day and age I was playing host to creatures that were feeding on me.

But things were to become far worse. On Thursday evening, I was sitting at my writing table. Without realising it I scratched my head and owing to my head's close proximity to the desk, I heard a faint tap as something landed on the page in front of me. Though it looked just like a small dot, I wondered if this dot had fallen from my scalp. Sure enough, closer inspection showed the dot to be a tiny creature that was making steady progress across the page under its own locomotion. More curious than disgusted I fetched my magnifying glass from a drawer. I knew what head lice looked like; I also knew what Varroa mites looked like. With a feeling of dread welling-up inside me I went upstairs to find the nit comb. Returning to my writing table I combed my hair on to a blank page of white paper. Three other dots appeared. Under the magnifying glass these too proved to be varroa mites. I had Varroa.

I needed to consult an authority on the subject and so decided to phone Bob Needs. 'Evening Bob' I said, disguising my distress. We exchanged pleasantries, after all, how does one broach such a subject?

'Bob, just out of interest, do varroa mites exclusively parasitize bees?'

'I think so said Bob, '1 am almost sure that they do.'

'So you never heard of varroa mites appearing on humans for example?' I asked with a particularly dry mouth. I swear Bob laughed for a whole minute. His laugh became a subsiding chuckle and then, as he became aware of my silence, he too fell silent.

'Why do you ask?' he said in a much more serious tone.

'Oh no reason' I said.

'That's ok then' he said relieved, 'for a minute I thought you were going to tell me you had varroa.' Then Bob laughed for another full minute.

'So you are saying it's impossible?'

'I expect it is' said Bob, 'I never thought about it before.' I decided to tell Bob about my friend's problem. 'And you are sure that your friend doesn't have nits?'

'Quite sure,' I told him. 'He's tried everything.'

'And they are really on his scalp?'

'Yes.'

'Are there many?'

'I'd say it was a fair infestation.'

Well I never heard of anything like it before. I could only suggest applying the usual varroa treatments, as part of an integrated pest management strategy. I normally use icing sugar but that would be no use on a human...' said Bob pragmatically, '...so either use Apistan or Bayvarol. I would however, recommend that your friend sees the doctor, it is highly unusual and I might even suggest consulting the tropical disease unit, they might know a little more.'

Contracting varroa is not something that I felt I should be shouting about from the rooftops; I certainly didn't want my fifteen minutes of fame to be as the first known case of a human playing host to a parasite that had jumped the species barrier.

My wife (a very tolerant lady) looked at me sideways as I climbed into bed. I had an Asda plastic bag secured to my head with rubber bands. Inside the bag, attached with hair clips, were three Apistan strips. The next day I sat up early and waited, did I itch? I didn't! The relief! Downstairs I shook the contents of the bag onto the kitchen table; sure enough, there had been quite a high drop count, fifty individuals or so. I breathed a sigh of relief and washed my hair thoroughly. I went about work feeling much more relaxed. Relaxed, that was, until the afternoon when I felt an itch and scratched, then another and another. The problem was back. Just my luck I thought, not only have I got Varroa, but mine are pyrethroid resistant.

Desperate measures I decided. Later that evening in the kitchen I prepared a heady concoction of oxalic, lactic and acetic acid mixed to an 18% solution. I ladled it over my head. The pain was remarkable. Rubbing salt into a wound is not sufficient to describe the burning heat that I felt. I endured the pain, hoping that the pain for the mites was worse.

It has been three weeks since I last felt an itch; I have had to wear a hat since, (although people were very accepting of my sudden alopecia.) My hair is starting to grow back now though, slowly, it all fell out in clumps within hours of my treatment. Thankfully it took the mites with it too. I am now the keenest exponent of an integrated pest management strategy with regard to the control of varroa. These days I am also much more careful about handling beekeeping equipment. For example, I no longer cut drawn comb from old frames in bed. It used to be a Sunday morning ritual of mine, along with a cup of tea and a slice of toast, but that, as well as the storing of supers and brood boxes under the bed, has had to stop. Perhaps I am not alone in having experienced this condition; I am at present taking the matter up with the Central Science Laboratory in the hope that research can be done. I for one can see that research is urgently needed.