Not Sick Enough...

Began on 7/1
I'm a little ashamed of my lack of consistency in posting to my blogs. I haven't been doing much writing at all. Well, I'm resolving to do better. Lucky, lucky reader...
It's been over three weeks and my poison is a faint, shiny, reddish "scarring"....all over my body! I'm confident it will be physically invisible at some future time....the emotional scars may NEVER fade. I still itch. It's generally manageable during the day when I'm preoccupied, but I wake up at night clawing at my arms and legs. Nana recommended Gold Bond lotion, and that does help initially. I bathe in it, frequently. The only thing that keeps me from drinking it (besides the warning label) is the strong slightly rancid menthol smell. Now that I'm feeling better, I'm back at the yard work, but I'm really paranoid. Vague, green, leafy, weeds make me cringe. There's poison lurking in disguise. I was mowing and weeding over the weekend and I'm like a "complete-scardy-girly wuss"....and I'm rarely intimidated, hardly ever frightened. Every day that I wake up oozing-running-soreless is a day of thanksgiving. I didn't realize how truly miserable and sick I was until I started to feel better. I actually think, now, looking back, that I was walking delirious.

The larger grandson was quite ill last week, running a fever of 105+. Surfer Dude called me at 2am to come stay with Baby while he and Daughter took Larger to the E.R. This is NOT a call you ever want to receive! Ever. I can not emphasize this enough. By the time I got to their home (approximately 32 seconds after hanging up the phone), Larger was at least coherent. I sat with him a few minutes while he told me that he was going to see the doctor and taking his mobile cranes (construction equipment, not birds) along. I said a silent prayer of thanks for children's Tylenol. At 6:30am I got the all-clear call! Larger was coming home. E.R. Doctor didn't know what was causing his fever....but, if it didn't go away Daughter and Dude were encouraged to schedule an appointment with the pediatrician, Dr. Over-react. I seem to remember the medical profession being a lot more confident and decisive when I was a kid.

Do any other 50 year olds remember going to the doctor as a kid (or having a doctor make a house call!)? They would look you over, tell your mom what was wrong, and write a prescription for penicillin. In 48 hours, you were better, but still not allowed outside. Simple, straight-forward, awe-inspiring, complete confidence. This sort of blind faith in the all-knowing healer continued to my early twenties. I remember my first brush with disillusionment. This was the beginning days of multi-physician practices. You never knew who you were going to see.

I was twenty one, newly married, and feeling really sick the majority of the time. I was missing work. Some days I was nauseated, some headachey, some fatigued, and then there were the combination days involving any and all of these symptoms. I was not yet pregnant. I went to the doctor, wondering if the birth control pill I was on could be causing any of this. Of course not. Silly me. So I went through an entire battery of allergy testing. Not a single positive reaction. They gave me ALL of the skin tests at one time (they usually broke them into two or more sessions) because the first batches showed NOTHING. They then gave me a shot under the skin of my forearm. This, apparently, was to indicate an allergic reaction to myself. I know, I couldn't get anyone to explain it to me in more detail. But, this did produce a HUGE reaction. I had a hive the size of Rhode Island (and about the general shape) around the injection site. So onto allergy shots...I still don't know what THAT was supposed to accomplish. I only received one or two, because, by then I WAS pregnant (and very disillusioned)...and feeling exactly the same way I felt when I consulted the doctor...only worse, much, much worse. (Later, much later, five years later when I had finished with pregnancies, child births, and nursings, I was consulting with my Ob/Gyn about taking Progestin for irregular periods. I mentioned my "problem" with birth control pills and he immediately reassured me that it was indeed the Estrogen in the birth control pills that caused my "allergy" symptoms!)

Next, there was the mystery breast infection. Actually, it wasn't a mystery at all. I was nursing our second child, my breast was bright red with an obviously plugged duct, I was in pain, running a fever of 102 degrees and very, very sick. Classic breast infection. Did I mention I was nursing a baby? Breast tenderness (read: excruciating pain)? Fever? Oh, and this was my SECOND breast infection...Knew the first one WELL! But, the doctor (different from Dr. Allergy) just wasn't so sure....
"Maybe we should do some blood tests?"
"UHHHH, when will we get the results? -gasp-"
"Day or two, Monday for sure."
"-pant-gasp-groan- I really can't wait that long. Can we begin antibiotics for a breast infection?"
Very annoyed,"I suppose if you insist, I'll give you a prescription for just enough pills till I get the test results, then we'll go from there."
If I would have had the strength to be annoyed... -finger-, "Fine."
Do I really have to tell you that the blood work was normal, and the infection cleared considerably in the two days it took to get the results. I then received the prescription for the remainder of my 10 day course of antibiotics...from the receptionist.

Next, the horrible incident of the scalded four year old. My In-laws took the three kids out for a fast food lunch. Older Son wanted hot chocolate. Sure, give the child anything he wants. And remember, these people were dealing with a five year old, a four year old and a two and a half year old. Things got out of hand quickly, and Older Son spilled the hot chocolate into his lap. Immediate blistering, sonic screaming, panicked grandparents!!! No cell phones in those days, gang, I got a call from the high school clerk working the counter. THAT is really not a call you ever want to get!! I was barefoot, painting the living room, and, thank God, Tall One was at home (it must have been a Monday, market was closed, long story for another time). We went and picked up Older Son and took him immediately to the mega-doctor practice and they did see us right away (it may have been the horrendous screaming...mine). The doctor took one look at O.S., shook his head and sighed, "Oh, this is bad, this is really bad..." I resumed screaming. We filled out the child abuse forms, talked with an additional nurse and a psychologist while O.S. was being treated, and left with antibiotic cream, bandages, and directions for changing them. We were to schedule an appointment with our Pediatrician within two days.

I don't know if I have EVER felt this bad. Incompetent, unworthy, neglectful, irresponsible, just generally without any ability to properly care for a house plant let alone a CHILD! The Doctor had been nothing but doom and gloom, predicting permanent scarring, the nurses and psychologist were cold and/or rude. We received at least three full lectures on proper parental supervision. These people weren't subtle or tactful. And, my son was in pain, poor little guy, and he never even got to eat his fast-food treat! I made the appointment with our Pediatrician for Wednesday. Until then, I dutifully changed bandages and cared for the children in my very best, but obviously inadequate, way.

Wednesday appointment with the Pediatrician. I carried O.S. into the exam room with my head hung low in abject misery. I had no idea what I was in for, but I deserved it. Dr. I-love-kids came in, greeted me warmly and told my son he was going to take off the bandages and look at his boo-boo. The man was actually smiling at me. Didn't he know what kind of person I was? He unwrapped the gauze and still talking pleasantly to my son said words that I had never hoped to hear, "This doesn't look so bad!" I immediately started to cry, hysterically.

Dr. I-love-kids couldn't have been kinder. He assured me there would be no scarring. I was taking excellent care of O.S. The abuse forms were standard. The rest sounded like major overkill, and at the very least should have been handled a little more delicately, but you can't fault authority for trying to look after a child's welfare. Everything was fine. "See you in a week to check on O.S.'s progress. You're a good mother, just look at this beautiful boy! Would you like another tissue?" (me thinking, "No thank you, Doctor, how about a Valium?")

We never went back to the Mega-practice. Not to this day. Not for emergencies or weekend on-calls. Never. Three strikes and you're out!

Now, my General Practitioner is a dinosaur. I've been going to him since he bought the practice from Dr. Older-than-dirt over twenty years ago. He's more of a personal friend than a physician. He's all by himself. He treats mostly old farmers and their wives or people from the trailer park without insurance. He has weird hours (takes an hour and a half for lunch, and works every evening till he's finished), the same nurses, and, until just a couple of years ago when he moved to new improved facilities, the oldest physician's office in the country with the equipment to match. He's in his mid-fiftys, but you swear he's the same guy that made house calls when you were five, prescribed penicillin, and really believed he knew how to make you better. He does. And, I trust him.