If Poison Ivy Doesn’t Kill You, The Stress Will
This afternoon was beautiful. . . or so I heard. I spent my entire afternoon in Urgent Care, convinced that my poison ivy was not only back, but had also turned into a serious skin infection that was going to kill me momentarily. Googling images is a very bad thing to do when you have a rash.
I saw my favorite urgent care doctor and he took one look at the always expanding angry rash on the insides of my elbows, the insides of my biceps, both of my lower legs, across my stomach, and my growing-more-speckled-by-the second-neck and came to the conclusion that I needed lots and lots of drugs.
I’m back on prednisone for the poison ivy with a vengeance that just won’t quit. I was given my first large dose while in the office before I left. I’m also on a serious antibiotic because it turns out the doctor thinks I might be right about a nasty skin infection (although it probably won’t kill me momentarily).
I’m only able to say that last statement about not dying, because he also put me on some lovely drug that works as both an anti-histamine (for serious itching) and as an anti-anxiety drug. I told you people and the doctor that I was about to lose it, and I am fairly certain he believed me. He also told me to buy Tecnu and douse my clothes and self with it. He also recommended I purchase some paste stuff that starts with a Z that you rub onto your poison ivy and then rinse off. He told me it was amazing and he better be right because that 1 ounce tube cost me $39.99. I kid you not.
As of right now, the itching has subsided for the first time in days, but I can’t say the same for the exhaustion. This is one leper lady who needs some rest. Calmer writing to follow, says those little green pills.
But Wait, There’s More
On Friday, I saw my surgeon about my wrist and thumb. My wrist has been bothering me for years on and off. While playing a spirited game of capture the flag, I fell and jammed my wrist while at church camp. I was in the 5th grade and the injury was a real problem because holding the hair dryer while hanging upside down to create that big hair look was pretty much impossible. I looked like crap for the entire weekend and when I returned from camp, my Mom decided it was a sprain, wrapped it and that was that.
For years now, I’ve had issues with it being sore on and off and a few weeks ago, it ramped up considerably and began affecting my thumb. Holding the bottom of Lil C’s jacket while trying to zip it up became near impossible because my thumb had that numbing pain kind of feeling. I decided I should have it checked.
The x-rays came back normal and my surgeon came to the conclusion that I must be starting to miss him. Also, I have general wear and tear in my wrist (tendon issues) and the beginnings of a "trigger thumb." I burst out laughing. How does a girl get a trigger thumb anyway? Although it’s not "catching" yet, he told me that if it gets worse, it will start to catch and feel even more icky (my word, not his) than it does now. He prescribed ice and ibuprofen and told me that if it gets worse, he’ll inject it. He said that it’s common after using crutches and that mine is not permanent and will stop bothering me. He’s right because it already feels a little better.
We also had a nice conversation about how poison ivy was going to kill me. He probably wrote in my chart that I am totally falling apart and sort of mental, and that would sort of be accurate.
Over the weekend, the poison ivy was getting insane. The blisters were getting larger and the itching was uncontrollable so it was prednisone for me. Within a few hours, the poison was already drying up and I was getting some relief. I have a day left of the prescription and yesterday, I started breaking out in hives. They’re random, one on my finger, one on my palm, a couple on my legs, a cluster of them around my elbows, and I have just about had it. So, now I think that I’m probably itching from the prednisone (or one of the many concoctions I put on the poison to help it dry up and go away) which makes me wonder which is worse: poison ivy or hives?
Can a girl catch a break already? Please!?!
Apocalyse Now
Lately I feel like screaming at the world, "What did I ever do to you?" I feel like the signs of the apocalypse are occurring on my body. Gestational diabetes with Lil C which has left me with a serious carb-counting complex that prevents me from enjoying dessert pretty much ever, whiplash which marked the descent into karate injury hell, messed up wrist (an old church camp injury) and thumb (for which I am seeing my orthopedic surgeon tomorrow-oh joy), torn acl and subsequent surgery, and now poison ivy that is spreading on my body like California wildfires after a two year drought.
That’s my forearm. Fabulous.
It started on my forearm, moved to my bicep, jumped to the other arm, made friends with my elbow and then I noticed two more bumps. One is on my leg, the other on my neck. I made a bee-line for the natural foods store as soon as I noticed the new bump on my elbow today. They gave me some kind of herbal homeopathic stuff that I have to dissolve in my mouth every two hours and also some seriously smelly soap with jewel weed in it. The only problem is that I now smell like jewel weed and so does my entire bathroom. So, wouldn’t you know it. . .
Two showings tomorrow, one of them a second showing.
Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not. But I can not catch a break to save my life. Not one.
Tomorrow both of the girls have well visits with their doctor, which is always a big event for the BBM family. Big I exaggerates everything and Lil C doesn’t know whether she should be her laid back self or jump on the paranoia train with her sister. And if the doctor isn’t fast enough, I’ll have to leave to get to my appointment and PT, which will end just as our first showing is about to start.
My PT told me that my surgeon may give me a cortisone shot in my wrist, and right now, I’m thinking that sounds like a little slice of heaven. It will serve dual purposes and maybe, just maybe I can stop working on my mental itch restraint, because I’m seriously about to get out a rake and take the top layer of my skin off.
Despite all the crapism that has been going on lately with low-ball offers and nasty skin rashes, I refuse to admit defeat. Tonight, a beautiful rainbow appeared in the sky. Our house was directly under the highest point, and I took it to be a sign. The rash will go; the offers will come. The apocalypse that is my body will be tamed and calmed. It just has to be.
A First Time for Everything
Before I tore my ACL in October, I used to always think how great it was that I had never had any knee problems. The ACL tear changed all that. I went from nothing to probably one of the worst possible knee problems.
I’ve always felt the same way about poison ivy. I’ve heard horror stories about it from my husband and many of my friends. One friend had it all over her private parts. I won’t tell you how she got it, but use your imagination and you won’t be far off. Mr. BBM had it so badly that he had to get a shot of cortisone to stop it. Unfortunately, I can now join the poison ivy club.
Before our open house this past weekend, I picked exactly three "weeds." Three. I took them right to the trash and the next day things got a little itchy on my arm. Each day this week, I have woken up wanting to rip my right forearm off my body because it is driving me insane. Every morning I wake up scratching and it seems to be getting worse.
I’ve bathed profusely. I’ve been drenching myself in prescription hydro-cortisone cream, yet it remains as annoying and rashy as ever. I’m one of those people who gets itchy in one place and then feels like I have bugs crawling all over me, so I’ve been scratching up a storm almost constantly and am terrified that it’s going to spread to, well, everywhere.
When I tore my ACL, I had tons of friendly advice and I appreciated it greatly. So, how about a little help for a girl with some serious scratch-fever? Any home remedies? Advice on something that will knock me out until this passes? Volunteers to scratch me?
Temper Temper
Last night, Lil C had the temper tantrum to surpass all temper tantrums. She had been agreeable all day, minus when she tried to pull Big I across the floor by her hair, but even that was fairly minor compared to what a usual day might hold. It was when we told her it was bath time that all hell broke loose.
While Mr. BBM carried her upstairs, she started air running and screaming at the top of her lungs as if possessed, "I don’t vant a bath" over and over again. Bath and bedtime is Mr. BBM’s time to spend with the girls. I get work done, do my PT, or just watch TV so I figured I’d let him handle it.
But when it sounded as if she was going to come crashing right through the ceiling of the living room from all the kicking she was doing in the bathroom, I thought I’d try to help. I could tell Mr. BBM’s patience was starting to wane.
Upon entering the bathroom, I realized I should have put on a wetsuit or something. There she was thrashing in the tub, her bottom lip quivering, and her breath catching on loud sobs. Big I, seated beside her in the tub was borderline hysterical (laughing, that is). Mr. BBM was soaked, as was the floor, that he was mopping up with extra towels.
In a very calm voice, I asked her what was wrong. "I don’t" sob sob "vant" sob sob "a take a baff!" she spit out like daggers, and then she started Irish dancing in the tub again. It’s absolutely amazing how much water one two-year-old can displace in a tub. Every time Mr. BBM tried to rinse her hair, she screamed louder.
When she was finally done (and the calm talking did seem to help), I helped her get dressed and then she just collapsed on my lap as she tried to collect herself. In another minute, she was fine.
I couldn’t help but think that two-year-olds have a fabulous way of dealing with things. You never have to guess what they’re thinking. They don’t bottle up their emotions and hold them in, thus making themselves miserable. I thought about how good it would feel to just let it all out there.
For example, last week when we got that low-ball offer, it would have felt great after those people got me so excited, to just totally freak out. Complete with crying and screaming, I could have flopped around in front of them and their agent to let them know how I really felt about their offer, instead of having to remain civilized and adult-like to tell them where they could stick their offer.
And then there’s my neighbor. Taking her trash can of last week and just slamming it down over-top of her head would have felt great. It also would have felt nice to just toss it at her when she emerged from her house. That’s what Lil C does when she finally decides to give Big I back her toy. She just launches it at her. It’s a nice technique and usually Big I tends to wish her little sister hadn’t given it right back to her. Or maybe, the screaming and flailing would have worked nicely with that too. A major freak-out on her porch might have gotten her attention a little better than simply moving her trash can for her.
Then there are the annoying telemarketers who try to keep you on the line and make you donate to their causes. Wouldn’t it be cool to just totally freak out? "I DON’T VANT TO GIVE YOU MONEY! I DON’T VANT TO GIVE YOU MONEY! I DON’T VANT TO GIVE YOU MONEY!" Something tells me that could be a whole lot more effective than, "I’m sorry, I’m not interested. No thank you. I can’t donate this year."
As we get older, we’re so concerned about what people will think of us. Big I wanted to remove one of her key chain things from her backpack today. She wanted to remove it because a friend of hers on the bus plays with it all the time, and it’s getting on her nerves. She took it off while in the car waiting for the bus. "What should I tell her Mommy?" she asked. "Just tell her you left it in your house today." "But that’s lying Mommy," she said. "O.k. would you rather tell her ‘I took it off because I didn’t want you playing with it?’" She thought for a second and then said, "No." "Then just tell her you left it in the car. That’s not a lie." She was satisfied with that response, but maybe she would have been better off just putting it out there. Maybe we should be civilizing two-year-olds less, and trying to get more real ourselves.
There are certainly some people in my life who deserve a good talking to, and if the stress of selling my house gets to me any more, they may just find me going all two-year-old on them.
Who would you like to go all two-year-old on?
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