And So It Began
My Superhero Origin Story
Laura Finney
5/5/2026
I always assumed that if I ever became a superhero, I’d end up with a particularly cool skill set. Invisibility. Flight. Maybe the ability to understand what my dog is thinking.
So it was not without a fair amount of consternation that, after being bitten by a radioactive Lone Star tick (which was most definitely not radioactive), I found myself saddled with what may be the world’s weirdest superpower: the ability to make chicken 947 different ways while reading ingredient labels like I’m decoding national secrets.
This is Alpha-Gal and this is where we begin. Alpha-gal syndrome is a serious, potentially life-threatening allergic condition triggered by a sugar molecule (galactose-alpha-1,3-galactose) found in most mammals (not humans nor great apes - but who was going to serve those two up for dinner), which is transmitted to humans via certain tick bites, especially the Lone Star tick.
In early March of 2025, I started experiencing what I came to think of as “Anaphylactic Shock Jr.” Why the “Jr.”? Because actual anaphylaxis is a severe — and potentially life-threatening — allergic reaction involving things like airway constriction, drops in blood pressure, and all sorts of terrifying bodily chaos. Real anaphylaxis requires immediate medical attention and often epinephrine (EpiPens).
What I was experiencing felt like its deeply unsettling younger cousin. Not full-blown “race to the ER” territory, but enough throat tightness, lightheadedness, panicky weirdness, and “something is definitely not right here” energy to convince me my body was staging a coup.
And because I am neither a doctor nor interested in being sued by one, let me be clear: this is just my own experience, badly narrated from the passenger seat of confusion. Hence the “Jr.”
It was like my body kept marching right up to the edge of the anaphylaxis cliff… and then refusing to jump.(For which I remain wildly thankful.)
Of course, when one feels as though one has been body-snatched, one does what any reasonable person would do: I went to doctors.
After so many blood tests that it remains genuinely surprising I still contained blood at all, the verdict finally came back: “Great news! You’re healthy!” At this point, all I could hear was Inigo Montoya (Princess Bride) telling Vizzini: “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Because from where I was sitting, my body seemed to be attempting to quietly unalive me while the medical community was giving me a gold star and sending me on my way. Where do you even go with that? In my case: Martha’s Vineyard.
I’m a realtor in both Maryland and Martha’s Vineyard, and it was time to head north for work. As it turns out, being extremely busy is actually a fantastic distraction from the lingering sensation that you might suddenly find yourself on the wrong side of the grass.
So off I went. And somewhere between work, chaos, and sheer stubbornness, by the end of May I realized something remarkable: I felt like myself again. Whatever this strange episode had been, it seemed to have passed.
Then June arrived and with it, a Lone Star tick that found me during an innocent little stroll — proving once again that nature is committed to keeping humans humble. I did what we were taught to do - extracted the tick, stuck it onto tape, and took myself to the local hospital for a prophylactic dose of doxycycline. I was told to watch for a bull's eye and sent on my way. To my great relief, neither bull’s-eye rash nor symptoms appeared in the ensuing weeks, and I almost completely forgot about the incident.
Almost.
Because that bite — and here I should mention that somehow this little bugger managed to crawl through several layers of clothing and latch directly onto my appendix scar — itched for the next six months. And not a casual little itch. I mean it itched like the tick had spent the afternoon line dancing through poison ivy before deciding to make me its forever home. Unfortunately, scratching at your appendix scar in public tends to generate more than a few raised eyebrows.
Otherwise, though? It was a glorious summer of cheeseburgers, BLTs, and charcuterie boards. I had recently perfected a hot pimento cheese dip and briefly became the toast of the town. Life was good. Life was cheesy. Until September.
As if someone flipped a switch, one moment I felt perfectly fine and the next “Anaphylactic Shock Jr.” came roaring back — except this time he’d apparently brought friends. Nausea. Brain fog. General feelings of doom.
What the &#*@??
Then finally one afternoon, completely fed up, I started complaining to my friends about this mysterious malaise. My friend Erin — wisest of wise women — stared at me in utter disbelief and said: “You idiot. You have Alpha-Gal.”
And honestly? It had not even crossed my mind. Which is particularly embarrassing because I’d previously suggested other people get tested for it.
But in my head, Alpha-Gal looked like hives and GI distress and dramatic allergic reactions after steak dinners. I didn’t realize it could also look like your body quietly staging a psychological coup while doctors cheerfully informed you that you were “healthy." Really, Laura?
No suspenseful cliffhanger here, by the way. I probably wouldn’t be starting an Alpha-Gal blog if that had turned out not to be the answer. Thanks for making it to the end of the beginning. I wish I could tell you things get less weird from here, but that would be wildly dishonest. It gets stranger, occasionally awful, unexpectedly wonderful, and involves an alarming number of moments where I stare into the middle distance muttering, “You have got to be kidding me.”