When It Rains, It Pours

I’d recommend skipping this one, honestly. It’s whiny and long, as it has to be to properly explain everything. I couldn’t make this week up if I tried.

Wednesday
My lovely friend Fredah takes me to the OB, who tells me that she’s extremely concerned by the fact that I only weigh 149 pounds (only two pounds heavier than my pre-pregnancy weight). Apparently the reason my arms and legs are look so muscular is that a) I’m doing too much and b) Nolan has already consumed all of my fat stores, which means we are technically both starving. My OB schedules an “emergency ultrasound” (labeled such because the only reason we’d be getting one at this stage in the game is to determine whether there’s something seriously wrong) in two weeks. She tells me that if I don’t start gaining weight immediately, I’ll have to be put on bed rest due to the extremely high risk of premature labor and various other birth defects due to my being underweight.

I have a persistent cold but it’s mild, so I ignore it. By evening, I have a headache.

Thursday
I head into work only to be sent home because I cannot breathe. The headcold I’ve been fighting for close to three weeks has spread into my chest. In a panic, I have Aaron take me to an urgent care center for some antibiotics (no, I don’t have a primary care physican yet… I’ve been lazy). When we arrive, they apologize, saying the wait will be two and a half hours. I ask if there’s another urgent care center in the area, call it, and find out there’s “no wait”. We go to that one instead, only to find out that their only doctor has juuuust entered surgery on someone’s wrist, and we’re dreadfully sorry, but the wait will be close to three hours. Since we’d already given up our spot at the other (much nicer) facility, we stick it out.

The doctor prescribes a five day Z-pack (zitromax; basically amoxicillan) to fight the dual infections. I tell her I have a headache that has lasted all night and all morning. She says it’s the beginnings of a sinus infection and the Z-pack will take care of it. She also diagnoses the little rash on my arm as ringworm. Upon leaving the center we see that our rear passenger tire is completely flat. Aaron drives into a nearby gas station, sees that we’ve run over a screw and changes it. We head to Target and wait an hour for my prescription. Aaron goes to work for three hours and I take a bath because I can’t get to sleep.

Friday
Feeling somewhat better, I head to work. I tell them about the likelihood of bedrest and they say “okay.” My headache explodes by 11am, going from a mild pain in my forehead to a soul-crushing, global agony. My left eye begins burning around the same time. I sob my way through the work day and return home to eat, throw up everything, and sleep fitfully.

Saturday
I sleep throughout the day, waking up every two hours to pee, blow my nose, and generally moan about my head. My left eye is now crusty and red, and leaks a thick discharge. Aaron tries to feed me, but I can’t keep anything down. We both head to Costco in the afternoon to place an order for new tires. The lights and sounds cause me to wish death on whomever invented the warehouse store.

Sunday
See Saturday. By nightfall, I’m in a panic. I’ve never, ever had a headache last this long. Ignoring Aaron’s offers to pick up some Tylenol (by this point I’ve still taken nothing for it), I have him drive me to the urgent care center instead. It’s closed. We locate an emergency room in the nearby town which takes forty-five minutes on bumpy back roads to get to because we can’t use the highways with our spare tire. After waiting for close to two hours in the nicest emergency room I’ve ever seen, they diagnose me with pink eye and rule out everything else concerning the headache. The end diagnosis? Migraine, triggered by muscle tension. They give me 975mg of Tylenol and a prescription for an eye ointment and send us home. As soon as I reach the apartment complex, I throw the Tylenol up in the grass.

Monday
I call work and tell them I have pink eye. They say “okay.” Aaron stays home to care for me and cleans up the kitchen. Stupidly, I worry about what his coworkers think of me, considering how often he’s had to stay home on my account in the psst month. I sleep fitfully, waking only to take in food and medicine, which I again can’t keep down. I estimate I’ve slept 60 our of the past 72 hours. Aaron polishes off some leftovers that had gone bad and suffers all night from diarrhea and a headache. In my state I can’t do anything for him but offer sympathy.

Tuesday
Thankfully, Aaron wakes up feeling fine, and goes to work after making sure I am comfortable. I am not so lucky, and so I call in sick again. Feeling marginally better, I sleep deeply for the first time in days, until the phone rings. Rushing to pick it up, I poke myself in the eye with my nails. It’s work. They tell me that they’ve already found a replacement for my classroom and would I mind coming in for half an hour to train her today? No? What about tomorrow? I say “okay” and hang up. Still in pain, I limp back to the bed. I am overcome with alternating feelings of disappointment, despair, and “well, I’m free now”. I was planning on quitting anyway, but not this soon, and am angry at my body for betraying me.

I try to sleep, but come here to moan and groan instead, thinking it will make me feel a little better. It doesn’t.