A World of Discovery: Orange Juice

Emma has had the sniffles for some time now. Against the advice of my mother, I've avoided giving her orange juice, mostly because of the sugar rush that follows. But alas, today we are out of oranges. In an effort to drive away the snot, I caved in and gave Emma orange juice. Somehow it didn't occur to me she'd never had it before.

Disclaimer for the health nuts: I watered it down. A lot.

She was excited at the prospect of getting juice. It's something that usually only happens at Grandma's house.  I gave her a cup and she took a sip. Then she looked at me. "Orange!" she exclaimed in the same way one might say, "Eureka!"

"That's right, Baby, it's orange juice."

"Orange? Juice! Orange juice! Wow."

Who knew one part orange juice two parts water could be so revolutionary?

Why, Baby, Why?

I remember this being a problem last time. When I am hungry, I never want what we have on hand. Everything makes my stomach go "ew!" If I stock the fridge with something that sounds good, I don't want it anymore. If I eat something that I don't want, I feel sloshy. But if I eat too much of what I do want, I feel even sloshier.

This is why there are two packages of hot dogs, 3/4 a summer sausage, a pound of cheese, 2 jars of pickles, 4 sparkling waters, an eggplant and a bowl of cookie dough in the fridge. It all sounded so good! I don't want it anymore.

Down with White Male Doctors

In my last post, I mentioned how I might have poison ivy. Well, I'm pretty sure that I don't. For the record, this is mostly an angry rant.

I first noticed the rash almost two weeks ago. I woke up with four large itchy spots, that looked a lot like mosquito bites, on my neck. I made a mental note to secure the window above our bed, and went on with my day. At noon, driving down the road, I felt another spot on a different part of my neck. I figured I just hadn't noticed it that morning.

In the meantime, by boobs were hurting. That's a normal symptom of pregnancy. I didn't think anything of it until I undressed that night. There it was: a hot pink rash all over my breasts, including over the nipples. (Let me tell you. Ouch.) I had to be allergic to something.

 By Friday morning it had spread to palm sized red blotches on both sides of my neck, my stomach and my legs. I made a doctor's appointment and a (rather loud) resident interrogated me about the possibility of new foods, lotions, soaps, materials, and exposure to nature. He determined that I was having an allergic reaction to something, gave me a strong steroid cream, and sent me on my way.

By the following Tuesday, the itch was unbearable, and still spreading. I went back to see my own doctor (the cute and peppy Dr Sheila) who immediately had me sent up to Dermatology for an appointment with Dr Stern.

Whatever you picture, when you think of Dr Stern, whatever image comes to your mind, you are absolutely accurate. The epitome of an old, white, male doctor, a with grey mustache. He concluded that I contracted poison ivy. In the winter. From my dog.

If you haven't met Bailey, our dog, it would be relevant for you to note at this point that never has there been a dog so averse to nature. And yet Dr Stern, in all his white male doctor wisdom, insists that I have poison ivy. I reminded him of some of the "delicate" placement of the rash, and told him I don't make it a habit of rubbing my dog on my boobs. He replied with a cough and a "hrumph." I also brought up that my husband is allergic to poison ivy as well, so it would stand to reason he should have it too. Dr Stern speculated that since he grew up, first in China where there is no poison ivy, then in the city of Chicago, he must not really be allergic to poison ivy.

Dr Stern was satisfied that he'd "explained away" my rash. He instructed me to wash my sheets (duh), and scolded me (yes, scolded me) for scratching. I convinced him to take a biopsy of the rash for testing. For the record, I now have a stitch on my butt.

I just got the test results back yesterday. The biopsy concluded that I am having an allergic reaction to something. Three doctors appointments, two prescriptions, two over the counter drugs, and one stitch in my butt, and all I know is that I'm allergic to something.

Since I haven't bought anything in the manner of clothes, lotions, detergents or soaps in over a month (thank you, bulk purchases) I must conclude that pregnancy has created an allergic reaction to something. I'm working on my own ways of dealing with it. The rash appeared on my face once, but only lasted a few days. I've started washing my whole body with my face wash, and it may or may not be helping.

I did get one thing from this whole experience: I love my Primary Care Physician. Dr Sheila was the only one out of three doctors (four if you include the intern who took my skin biopsy) who recognized that my opinion was important and sympathized with my discomfort.

It is so, so, so important to build a relationship with a good doctor who cares more about you than about getting you out the door. When you go see a doctor, and you feel you are being treated unfairly, or are not being listened to, you have the right to request a new doctor. You may get some dirty looks or attitude, but it is your right as a patient. Find the right doctor. Even if they don't have the solution, they can help you in more ways than just the physical.

I Have An Announcement!

I went off my birth control in November and instantly became pregnant! Woo!

We don't know if its my uterus or my (handsome and manly) husband's super-sperm. It has been speculated that there might have been something in the water at my counterpart's high school. It was a math and science school, after all. Perhaps there were undisclosed experiments performed on students. A few of my husband's friends have had similar *ahem* success in procreation. 

At any rate, we're excited! The mere fact that this pregnancy is intentional is enough for me to celebrate. I'm rather looking forward to this entire experience. I've heard a lot about the GLORIES of pregnancy and childbirth. Last time I was pregnant, those glories were overshadowed by the uncertainties, emotions and general "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." I'm looking forward to seeing what all the fuss is about. 

According to my weekly info email, my child is currently about the size of a blueberry. (Why foods? It's always food.) That hasn't prevented me from gaining water weight. None of my jeans are comfortable anymore. I'm living on sweatpants and one pair of maternity slacks.

Morning sickness has kicked in, though I'm sure it's going to get worse. Right now it's just a general queasiness that comes from looking at healthy food. It goes away when I think about pizza or hot-dogs. (Not polish sausage, mind you, unless it's kielbasa and has been cooking in sauerkraut for at least 3 hrs. No, just plain old, *hopefully* all-beef hot dogs. With mustard.) I also like to think about this upcoming Christmas ham. 

Despite my cravings, I'm doing all right as far as diet goes. I will admit, however, that sometimes my philosophy has been "if you can't eat something nice, don't eat nothin at all." I keep a lot of baby carrots on hand. I'm drinking a lot of water, about 2 liters/day, though it's difficult to keep track with a tiny toddler stealing your water bottle.

Emma has absolutely no idea what is going on. We haven't made any changes around the house yet, but in an effort to help her understand, I looked up a diagram of a pregnant woman at about 34 weeks. We looked at the diagram together and I pointed out the mommy and the baby. I went on to explain that I am the mommy and I'm growing a baby. She, in response, lifted her own shirt, pointed at her belly and (sounding rather alarmed) asked, "a baby???" We're going to be working on this one gradually. 

That's the general re-cap. Tune in later this week to find out whether I'm allergic to pregnancy or have the worst case of poison-ivy ever.