The sickness has been making its rounds at our house, leaving one after the other of us hacking, feverish, puking or squirting. Sometimes one of us is unfortunate enough to have all at once.
Blythe, with her allergies, is impossible to medicate because pretty much every medication ever made has some corn-infused thing in it. That means she can’t have Imodium A-D for her diarrhea, Tylenol or Motrin for her fever, or any kind of cold-symptom relief.
The result: Diaper rash. Oh, and diaper rash creams have corn, too.
I made an executive decision during Blythe’s bout of stomach flu, and dosed her with Infant Motrin (with a shot of Zyrtec on the side) for her high fever several days in a row. She was miserable, what was I supposed to do? I’d given her the combo in the past and she seemed to handle it well. Apparently, though, THAT much corn starch built up in her system and we can’t get it out.
My poor baby is now allergic to her own pee and poop. We’ve dealt with the poop thing before, but the pee is a whole new ball game. Her ass is on FIRE, and it hurts so much when she pees that she’s started holding her urine for hours at a time. Oh, and that medication to help with burning pee? One word: corn. Are you sensing a pattern here?
We had to take a urine sample to the lab to rule out a urinary tract infection, and it took three hours, 16 ounces of milk, 4 ounces of diluted juice and 3 ounces of water before she’d pee. Seriously, folks.
So with all that going on, I decided to go ahead and get her potty trained. I mean, the more she pees in a diaper, the more rash she gets. Every drop of pee or smear of poop that touches her skin leaves hives and a burning rash in its wake. It’s been nearly two weeks now, and I can’t even give her anything for pain.
Let me say, trying to potty train a 1-year old is interesting. She’s completely aware of when she has to pee now, because of the whole “pee-pee is on fire” thing, which helps. She’s getting better at letting me know she has to go BEFORE the pee is running down her leg (and yes her legs will puff up too, but I’ve gotten pretty quick at getting her butt in the sink*), but poop is another story. I’m just grateful the diarrhea phase of illness is over, because it’s hard enough to scrape it out of her pants, as-is.
We spent our long weekend in the living room, watching movie after movie, pushing fluids and sitting on the potty. More than once I’ve seen foot-shaped pee puddles across the floor. It’s all good though, because at least we’re going through this BEFORE we replace the flooring in a few months. Every cloud has a silver lining, no?
* If you happen to stop by any time soon, I recommend you NOT lick our bathroom sink.
Category: Allergies
Lately I’ve been lying in bed at night, thinking about universal balance. You know: karma, yin and yang, give and receive, having your beautiful cake and not being able to eat it, too.
It led me to wonder, when God grants a prayer request, does He also scribble down a little IOU? It’s funny to think of Him standing there, holding a stack of invoices, but it’s a little scary too – you never know exactly what the cost is, or when it’s due. I mean, when is your debt really paid? It’s not like He sends a statement.
Back when we were trying to get pregnant with what turned out to be Blythe, I would take my monthly pregnancy test (or five) (who am I kidding, I mean 10) (ish) and while waiting the requisite 4 minutes, I’d say “Please let it be positive this time. Please, God, just this once”. And then it would be negative and I’d start again the next month with the begging. God was probably tired of hearing from me.
After a year or so, we took a little break and wouldn’t you know, one day a few months later, a burrito sounded damn good and I wolfed it down even though I’ve always thought, my whole life through, that burritos were disgusting, and BAM. Positive pregnancy test. No negotiations required.
I begged God or the Universe, or who ever else was listening, to let the baby be in a good spot in my deformed uterus. Because, otherwise, the chance of miscarriage was something like 85% and who bets on those odds? Our relief at her good uterine placement was short lived when, at 9 weeks, during one of my many daily bathroom visits, I discovered copious amounts of blood gushing from the worst possible place for a pregnant woman.
Have you ever seen a mother beg for her child’s life? It’s not pretty. It involves a lot of blubbering and tears and even snot bubbles, and if you think I might have offered up every thing we possess to the Keeper of the Universe if this child could live, you’d be spot on. We had to wait through the entire weekend, me on bed rest and continuing my mental begging, before getting to see whether the baby made it.
When I saw not only a little peanut in my uterus but the flashing light that indicated a heart beat, I just knew this baby was going to make it the whole nine yards, and I quit my begging. My request had been granted and I didn’t want anyone changing their mind based on the fact that I was annoying.
Over the past few months I picked up my old habit where I left off, asking God and the Universe to let Blythe grow out of her food allergies. It’s not such a big request, is it? It’s all I’m asking for, not a fancy new car or world peace or for my adult acne to finally go away, because, really, don’t you think someone in their 30’s should be able to focus on their wrinkles instead?
But then, about a month ago, after I’d gotten all cocky about how I had this thing down pat, what with Blythe going months now without a reaction, we got a rude awakening. She picked up a girl scout cookie her sister accidentally left within her reach. Not only did she put it in her mouth, she ate the entire thing.
I could blame the girl scouts for putting high fructose corn syrup in their cookies, myself for keeping a stash of them, my husband for finding the stash, Alison for leaving the cookie out, Blythe for eating it. But you know, sometimes things are just inevitable. No matter how hard you try, sometimes mistakes happen. You can look back on that one thing, that catapult, if you will, and regret it or relive it the rest of your life, but you can’t ever change it.
Every day for 5 weeks now, Blythe has been struggling. One corn-laden cookie knocked her immune system down and now she’s not only hyper-sensitive to anything corn, she developed a NEW allergy, to soy. Anyone who comes around has to wash their hands and face before touching or kissing her. Jeremy has to take a shower and change his clothes before he’s allowed anywhere near her, because she has a reaction from particles he accumulates on his clothes and skin from animal feed and the like. For Blythe, these allergies went from manageable to out of freaking control.
Being anal retentive and a bit dramatic, I spent a few days thinking, “WHAT NOW? We may as well order ourselves a bubble and put her in it”. I felt like we were up against something I couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t fix, all while my baby girl suffered and whimpered her way through her days and nights.
But, you know, looking at this as the debt we owe in exchange for her survival, it doesn’t look so bad. It’s what has changed my attitude from one of defeat to one of proactivity. I’ll take a sweet, loving, thoughtful, happy little girl who happens to be extremely food allergic over a clump of bloody cells in my toilet, every time.
Oh and God, if you’re listening? I think you can mark that invoice “PAID”.
Prior to Blythe’s diagnosis of being allergic to corn and egg, I was blissfully ignorant of the plight of the food allergic. Sure, I felt sympathy for all the label reading going on. But true empathy is only possible, I think, when you take on the responsibility of caring for a food allergic child.
To that end, I would love to share this article published in Family Magazine of Washington, and forwarded to me by the KFA Organization (KFA= Kids with Food Allergies). The article, titled Attack of the Killer Peanut Butter Sandwiches, focuses on peanuts in the lunchroom, but gives a great overall feel for what life is like for a food allergic child. Go read it – if you’re a parent, I promise you’ll be glad you did.
The more experience I gain having a child with food allergies, the more worried I get about her future. Right now, at 15 months, I control not only what Blythe eats but the environments in which she spends her time. I know for a fact that there are no allergens lurking around my home or that of my mother, where Blythe goes while I work.
But as she gets older, Blythe will be exposed to more people, places and things. That is a fact of life. The preschool she will eventually attend is already well aware of her allergies, and has some great policies in force to help us cope with them. But again, that is a very controlled environment, where I am confident she will be diligently watched every time food is present. I am also quite pleased with how meticulous they are about cleanliness – because we all know kids and crumbs go hand in hand.
However. The future holds elementary school, parties, play dates at other people’s homes and even airline travel and hotel stays, where I will have no idea what life-threatening allergens are hiding on the bed where she sleeps. After all, Blythe will only fit in the pack-n-play for so long.
It is with trepidation that I look forward, and it saddens me. Finally, I have a child who is happy to do things without my constant presence, and yet I cannot rest if she is not with me for fear of the phone call I might get.
No one wants that phone call – no mother deserves it.
Sweet baby girl. Here you are, snuggled against me as we rock in the dark. Your hand gently strokes my wrist while I sing you a lullaby. I watch as your silhouette rises and falls with every slow breath. You yawn, so I give you one last squeeze. I lightly kiss your cheek, lay you in your bed and cover you with your blanket. “I love you, baby girl,” I whisper, “good night”. As I close the door behind me, I hear you whisper back, “Ni-ni”.
How far we’ve come, baby girl. There was a time, not so long ago, that you would not allow me to cuddle you. Being still was not something you were capable of – suddenly, as if your insides could not rest. Most nights, you would strain against me, your body rigid for long minutes at a time. Your back would arch, your arms and legs would become as stiff as boards. Sometimes, I could not hold your flailing body and would place you in the only safe place I could think of – your crib. I would lie on the floor beside you, tears trickling down my face as you threw your tiny body against the sides. On these, our worst nights, you would scream for hours before finally lying still. Every few minutes your little legs would spasm and I worried, every time, that it was not over. How I would search you for bruises the next day, sure you were hurt.
Nights were our worst times, baby girl. All the smiles and laughter of the day were gone when darkness fell. But now, thankfully, your body can rest. Finally, I don’t go to bed feeling helpless to soothe you.
You are well.
** Blythe was suffering from an undiagnosed corn allergy. If your baby/child has similar bouts of hyperactivity, please go here for more information. Blood tests as well as scratch tests can be done by a pediatric allergist, to determine if your child suffers from corn allergy. **
Categories
Ever Diligent
You know how I’m totally anal-retentive? Well maybe you don’t, but I am. So now you know. I’ve been trying to relax more over the past couple of years. It takes a long time to unclench, let me tell you. Perfectionism is a disease. The symptoms are fanatical attention to detail and constantly feeling overwhelmed. If this is you, maybe we could start a support group. Or a daily margarita group, which ever.
I used to be a Reader Of Labels. Alison was on such a mother-imposed, restricted diet (until she started preschool, where they gently pushed me out the door) that we never left the house without our snack bag, lest we get hungry and have no healthy choices. The sphincter has been permanently at half-mast regarding food more recently because I’ve realized that if we eat healthy for the most part, life is a lot more fun. And I’m a lot easier to live with.
But then. Monday we found out for certain that Blythe has food allergies, to eggs and corn. She didn’t even cry when they did the scratch test.
So, hello food labels. Hello, natural food store, with your patchouli smell and helpful staff. I’ve missed you. I’m back, all clenched and ready for action.