A Medical Minefield!

Let me kick off today's strange tale by stating very firmly how fortunate and grateful I feel to have a strong, healthy family. I mean, this past Winter we managed to somehow slide through without anyone even getting sick (knocking wood). And as for me, I honestly can't recall the last time I suffered a cold, or anything worse (knocking wood...with both hands). But, evidently our days of flying under the Germ Radar have skidded to an abrupt and unpleasant end. The Universal Manager of Maladies (I picture a small nerdy scientist-guy with a clipboard, checking off those who have recently suffered an ailment and making sure the numbers stay in balance...but that's just my overactive imagination) suddenly noticed that we've been severely lagging in shouldering our fair share of medical complaints. So they decided to both restore equilibrium...and apparently have a little fun at the same time. I could just hear the shifty little guy (because, c'mon, it MUST be a dude, right?) thinking about what to do..."Should I send a cold? Nah, too mundane. A sinus infection? Eh, been there, done that. Wait, I've got it! Let's hit her with an unsightly, uncomfortable, unexplainable infection...of the jaw! (Did you catch the evil snickering? Yeah, me too...)

So, out of the clear blue, I wake up one day with one side of my face swollen, tender, and discolored. What. The. HECK? I swear it looked like I'd either lost a major boxing match in my sleep...or been bitten by one majorly pissed-off, poisonous spider. Deee-lightful. And sooooo very attractive as well! Now, I'm normally a stoic, "humph, who needs doctors?" kind of girl, so in this case, I gave it 24 hours to just wait and see what developed...and when it appeared to be increasing in both size and discomfort the next day, I hastily made an appointment. The doctor examined it quizzically, drew blood to test for various things, and proclaimed it (ready for this?) a "mumps-like infection". Reeeealllly? Honestly, I got the feeling he was just slapping a label on to placate me--like a definitive diagnosis might prevent me from exercising my need to freak out in his office. He explained that the lab work might give us more answers, but in the meantime, we'd throw an antibiotic at it and hope that would relieve the symptoms. At this point any treatment plan sounded like a step in the right direction, so I readily agreed to give it a try.

Then I discovered the only real downside that I've encountered so far to being a generally robust person who rarely even takes an aspirin: my body did NOT react well to this powerful antibiotic the doctor prescribed. How, you ask? Try "a freight train rumbling through my insides." Also, to manage the throbbing ache of this stupid...whatever...I was popping pain relievers like they were bon bons. Ibuprofen, acetaminophen, migraine formula, however much I could swallow, as often as I was allowed, according to the microscopically-written label. (Oh, that was supposed to be a 2? I saw a 3, oh well, what could it hurt...) And I added probiotic pills to the cocktail to try and make things happier in the old gut region. Oh yeah, and periodically I uncurled from a ball for 2 minutes to warm a microwaveable heating pad and place it gently on my face for a half-hour or so. Yep, that was my rockin' Saturday. I think we'd all agree that I was a hot mess. To encapsulate how miserable it truly was, I missed both my sons' soccer games. I know, gasp! Let me tell ya, that's about as bad off as I ever get. (Knocking wood yet again, not taunting the  Microbe Police, believe me!)

Luckily, by Sunday the medicine seemed to be making some headway and the area appeared to be improving a little. And my digestive system had either decided to adjust to the unfamiliar substance, or the lactobacilli-mabobs had already done their job to restore peace and order. I was feeling normal enough to have my approximately once-quarterly french fry craving, so there you have it. Meanwhile, as I set my feet tentatively on the road to recovery...Husband has mowed the lawn on Saturday afternoon and picked up his regularly-scheduled case of poison ivy. And Riley woke up Sunday morning with red, goopy, itchy eyes that just screamed "Conjunctivitis". (A trip to the clinic confirmed this and got him started on some drops. Why not? What's one more prescription for our Countertop Pharmacy?) So basically, Derek (who requested that he be mentioned in this post, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with him) represents the only member of Team WestEnders to have successfully avoided the wrath of the Illness Fairy this weekend. But on the plus side, we've acquired a veritable Arsenal of Pharmaceuticals that we will employ in attacking the unwelcome invaders until they go the heck away and leave us alone. So there! Now have we earned our popsicles for good behavior?