385
viewsItchy Palms Foretell Doom?
By MetaxaCunningham, Sunday, August 15, 2010, 4 commentsMy husband is lying on the couch, eyes semi-glazed from some darn good painkillers and residual anaesthesia from his early morning dental surgery. I flit about him, plumping his pillows, pouring his gingerale and placing the remote control within his reach. I chitter and chatter as I locate the blanket he wants, winding myself into a tornado of comfort. What he doesn’t know is that what started out as an itchy palm has become a full blown eruption; my hands are on fire. Because I don’t want to believe it; because I don’t want to alarm him; because I can’t leave him alone in his condition, I try to ignore the fact that I need emergency medical care.
I keep telling myself that my skin is just a little irritated and that I am not having a severe allergic reaction. I ply myself with anti-itch lotion. I don’t feel right about complaining, but geez it hurts. In my state of denial, I busy myself attending to him. It is important that he doesn’t worry, and what right do I have to whine about a little patch of itchy skin? I didn’t just go through a brutal dental surgery; my mouth isn’t stuffed with gauze and bleeding.
But my hands hurt and they are swelling; the rough redness is spreading up my arms and developing in sporadic patches all over my body before I decide that I better take Benedryl. It is safe now; he seems fine, so it is okay if I take something. I won’t have to drive.
What I should have done was flag down a neighbour to keep an eye on him and drive myself to the emergency room. Even better, I should have taken the Benedryl at 3AM when I first noticed a problem, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I wanted to drive my husband to and from his dental surgery. He was relying on me.
Instead, I have chosen to wait until my stepson gets home from work before I seek medical attention as the medication is not working for me. My condition is worsening but my husband can’t be left alone post-surgery and I can’t drive post-Benedryl. So here we are Itchy and Owie, quite the pathetic duo. As the anaesthesia wears off, my husband notices my condition. He half-heartedly jokes about my being a prima-donna, upstaging everyone so I can get all the attention. I really don’t think it is funny, and if he wasn’t so puffy looking, and sounding like Elmer Fudd with a mouth full of marbles, I might have told him off. The truth is that I am starting to get scared. I have never had a reaction like this before. My body is covered in a hot raging fire of hives, and my lips and tongue are tingling.
When my stepson arrives home from work that evening, I assess my situation as being desperate and deem my husband okay to be left alone for the time it takes the boy to drop me off at the emergency room. I am rushed through triage, nurses whisk me into the treatment area and take my vitals. A very nice doctor examines me, gives me a pitying look and prescribes a shot of epinephrine along with a host of pills that I gratefully take. Then I call my husband and assure him that I am fine, before settling in for the hours it will take to show that the medication is working and that I am fit to go home.
What makes women so willing to sacrifice our health because we think our energy is better spent on something else? Why is it so easy to leave ourselves for last, catering to the needs of others when our own needs are overwhelming? I have a theory that at the very least applies to me: I am either a martyr or an idiot. There were a lot of things I could have done to make sure my husband was taken care of and still seek proper treatment for myself. The situation needn’t have escalated into the ER drama that it did. Hell, I was beginning to look like a patient from the TV series House.
The moral of this story is look after yourself first. You can't take care of anyone else if you are a hot mess. Also, it is very unlucky to wake up with itchy palms; it could be foretelling your doom.
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4 Comments
They say that behind every
They say that behind every good man is an even better woman! I think your story serves as proof. They also say that a woman's threshold for pain is hundreds of times stronger than a man's, also proved in your story. You're a tough lady! I hope you and hubby feel better!
Thanks. We are both doing
Thanks. We are both doing better. I plan not to need anymore benedryl/ epinephrine cocktails for awhile. It really is hard to take care of someone when you don't take proper care of yourself.
Great blog! I love the moral
Great blog! I love the moral of the story, and I agree with you that it is very important for us to remember to take care of ourselves.
And, I don't think that you're a "martyr" or an "idiot," (as you had said before). You seem like a very loving and giving woman who cares very deeply for her husband. I think it's easy to get focused on the ones we love, wanting to make sure that they are taken care of first--especially when they're sick and at their most vulnerable. I think it's only natural that you waited until he was ok, and that you gave your ailment some time (keeping an eye on it through the day to see if it got better or worse) before going to the ER. It seems like you waited until the time felt right to go to the ER. I think a "martyr" would have never gone to the ER even after being certain that the swelling wouldn't go down.
My main point is, try not to be too hard on yourself:-) You did what you thought was right at the time. You waited to go to the ER until you were certain that you needed to go. And, in my mind, there's nothing wrong with that. I am happy to hear that everything turned out fine with him and with you (thank goodness:-)).
Thanks for your kind words
Thanks for your kind words Kim, most people have told me I was an idiot.
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