Where oh where did my weekend go?

I seem to recall a little bit of cleaning, cranky Peach, itchy miserable Princess Punk and The Zen Master coming down with a cold.

And now all of a sudden, it’s 6:30 on Sunday night, dinner is almost ready (beer-can chicken… SO good) and I’m wondering what time I need to leave tomorrow in order to get The Peach to daycare and actually get into work on time.


I’m tired. And hungry. And I have a headache (oh yeah, that’s new).

Princess Punk is staying at My Mom’s for a dew days to see if it’s something in my house that is causing the evil hives that continue to plague her. She is so miserable and there is absolutely nothing I can do to help her. She is now on 3 different antihistamines, 2 topical creams plus neosporin with pain relief AND, just added yesterday, an oral steroid as well. After multiple phone calls with Dr. Hottie and her PCP we came to the conclusion that a blast of steroids and a close monitoring of her blood sugar might be sufficient to knock this shit out of her system or at least down to a tolerable level. So far, her blood sugar hasn’t spiked too high and seems to still be responding to insulin but unfortunately her hives are no better and she is scratching herself raw. I ache for her every time she rolls up her pajama legs or pulls up her pajama top in order to have me put the various creams and ointments on her puffy, red, blotchy skin. Her thighs are so irritated and puffy they are starting to bruise. She currently has so many hives on her belly that there is a red swath covering her from just to the left of her belly button, around her to the right (that would be across and in her belly button) to the middle of her back. It rambles as high as her bra line (or farther, I didn’t look) and down past her panty-line. Her shoulders are blotchy and angry and there are small patches of raw skin where she has inadvertently scratched until she drew blood. It’s not even a conscious thing, I’ve watched her do it. Sitting watching Mythbusters with me and idly clawing her shoulders, arms, flank and upper thighs. And of course, every time I remind her that scratching really make it worse (literally, it will release more histamines into the skin and cause more welts, in the happy shape of long scratch marks across her skin) She gives me “The Look,” and I can’t even get upset about the ‘tude because if I was in her place I know I’d be scratching like crazy.

Last night, I administered her meds, checked her blood sugar (74, thank goodness), applied creams and ointment diffusely over her skin and gave her a tuck-in. She got her tuck-in from her dad and then came back into the living room and just kinda stood there on  one leg, scratching the back of her calf with her foot. She looked miserable. I will reiterate. Princess. Punk. Refuses. To. Cry. Ok, she refuses to cry unless she’s having some kind of insane hormonal meltdown which has become the norm about the 3rd of each month. Anyway… She was standing the in the living room, looking kind of… defeated. I asked her a number of questions, trying to pry out of her tight-lipped facade what exactly I could do to help her. I asked her if she wanted some water. I asked her if she wanted to stay up and watch TV until the meds kicked in a little bit. I even asked her if she wanted to go to the hospital in the hopes they could give her something stronger to give her some kind of relief. Every question was answered by a blank look and a mumbled “no” as the tears built up but refused to spill. I asked her if she wanted a hug. Nope. Then I told her that I needed a hug and asked if she could please give me one. She threw her arms around my shoulders, winced, buried her head in my neck and started to cry.

My heart broke.

As a parent, there are few (if any) things in the world worse than watching your child suffer and being absolutely powerless to stop it. With The D Monster, at the very least I know there are things I can do to help, things that I can do as a parent to help alleviate the drama and shittiness that plagues Princess Punk on a daily basis. I know what the cause is for any discomfort or pain or frustration she might feel and I have tools to help her deal. But this shit? Fuck if I know. I have no idea what caused it, no idea why the meds aren’t helping, no idea what I can do to ease her utter misery.

So… I guess that’s what happened to my weekend? And now I’m about to eat dinner and put The Peach to bed and snuggle with The Zen Master and a glass of wine until I am tired enough to slip past my troubled thoughts into some kind of sleep.

And get ready for whatever crap next week will bring.


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