Saturday, April 16, 2011

Not my proudest moment.

After my shower last night, during which each and every single PUPPP blister on my body broke open, I had a complete meltdown. I tried to enlist my husband's help in finding one of the eight million "what to do if you think you are in labor" cards from my OB's office floating around the house. When he asked why I was looking for one, I cried that I needed to call the number because I absolutely had to have some sort of medical intervention right the eff then. I had to go to L&D and they had to give me IV steroids or induce labor or do something because I hurt all over and couldn't take it anymore.

He asked if I wanted to just go to the hospital, but then I realized that I was crying and wearing a bloody, wet towel and maybe I shouldn't get in the car looking like that.

I now have this horrible PUPPP rash all down my arms and legs in addition to my back, butt and belly. The only places unaffected are my hands, feet and face. I look like I have herpes or chicken pox or measles or something, my skin is hot to the touch, I am lumpy, and I cannot stop itching.

The Triamcinolone was supposed to last me for fifteen days, but I already on tube number two.

Tristan was kind enough to let me sit and mope in the bathroom while he applied the aloe vera and steroid ointment. I hurt too much to try and bend to reach my ankles or the inside of my legs. Then he made me a cup of tea, got me to agree to take some Benedryl, and I sat in bed and read a book until I fell asleep.

Yeah, I pretty much have the best husband ever. I know.

I'm calling my doctor's office as soon as they open on Monday and whining (possibly even crying) until they can either fit me in or call in a tube of Temovate to the pharmacy. I can't live like this.

I'm currently wearing a pair of size XL maternity jeans because we're out of food and need to go to the store. They don't fit--the waistband sags and the pants are long and baggy--but I'm glad I have them because they don't rub on the rash. It's better than continuing to wear my husband's flannel PJ pants, although I might have to keep wearing this ridiculous 2XL Spiderman affair I found in his t-shirt drawer. (My husband isn't even a size 2XL, so I have no idea why he has this giant shirt--but I'm glad he does.) I wish I had a giant, tent-like dress to wear, something without a waistband or, even better, without a waist to begin with. With less than three weeks to go, though, it's not worth it to buy new clothes--especially not ugly new clothes designed to cover my PUPPP-ruined body.

I can't help but wonder if this entire pregnancy is god striking me down for years of vanity. First I gained 45 pounds, then I erupted in itchy, hot, red blisters, and then... what? Can it get worse? What happens next?

Paxton has less than three weeks to make his exit before my OB makes it for him. I'm really starting to doubt I can keep it together that long...

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