Hello, dear readers! I hope both of you had a lovely Labor Day Weekend. We had an interesting one.
We spent most of the weekend with my parents, which was exceedingly enjoyable. I’m sure they were getting real tired of us, but hey, if you offer us a meal (or six), we are not going to turn it down. It was like that scene in “Winnie the Pooh,” where Rabbit half-heartedly invites Pooh to stay for lunch purely as a matter of form, and much to Rabbit’s dismay, Pooh accepts and eats Rabbit out of house and home. That’s what you get for being polite!
Scott was totally blissed out for the grand opening of college football season. He and my dad spent hours glued to the tube. Mom and I decided that we are going to pick three months a year to watch “The Bachelor in Paradise” for about eight consecutive hours every Saturday. We’ll see how that goes over with the menfolk.
I kid. Scott was kind enough to take all of us to a local art festival on Labor Day because getting her face painted was all Ruth would talk about. Luckily, the art festival was located adjacent to the courthouse, so Scott was able to expertly maneuver us to prime parking since he has to go to that courthouse all the time.
She really wanted this “swan” on her face, and we hadn’t the heart to tell her it was an eagle. Also, the patriotic outfit that matches her patriotic face paint choice was all her decision. ‘Murica. Rose wanted the butterfly. Wren and Rhea were hot.
Go Wildcats! (My old high school). My alma mater has sent us bibs for the births of Ruth and Rhea, but not for Rose and Wren. Not sure what they’re trying to tell me there. Maybe the typical bib allotment is two. Anyway, I wish we had them for each child because we love them.
We wandered around trying to find some food because hunger meltdowns were imminent. There were no street vendors, though, and all of the restaurants were packed to capacity. So, we decided to pack it up and head over to the nearby prominent barbecue joint called Williamson Brothers.
The Bass family did themselves proud at the barbecue joint. We all tucked it in with enthusiasm.
So, onto the agony. Those of my dear readers who are not into reading about my maladies feel free to stop reading here. I won’t be offended, I promise.
I woke up on Thursday morning with some soreness. I assumed it was a clogged duct and simply fed on that side as much as possible. But it only got worse and nursing Rhea was becoming unbearable. The overall soreness was gone, so I assumed Rhea had injured me while drawing out the clog. If only.
Long story short, it spread to both sides, and every feeding was agony. Like shards of glass, I feel like I’m burning alive agony. I texted my friend who is also a Bradley Method birth coach and has had two unmedicated child births and told her this must be how bad the pain is during childbirth. She was a good sport about it and humored me.
Naturally the worst of this happens during the holiday weekend when all of the doctors’ offices are closed. It wasn’t bad enough for me to go the emergency room, but it might have been good to call the after hours line and have them page my OB. I would have felt guilty interrupting their holiday weekend for a non-emergency though, so I simply suffered all weekend. Don’t worry, I offered all of this up, so a legion of sinners must have been converted. Ha! Nothing like offering something up to really put it into perspective. “This is worth at least two conversions, right God?”
Dr. Google diagnosed my ailment as thrush. Rhea’s mouth looks fine and she hasn’t had a diaper rash, but Dr. Google said it is sometimes asymptomatic in babies. So first thing this morning I called my OB to get a prescription for an anti-fungal. I was hoping for some pain medication too, but no dice. Looks like I’m going to have to live with this pain for a while longer. My pediatrician’s office has been less helpful. They told me that since Rhea didn’t have any symptoms, they couldn’t prescribe her anything. “Bullsh*t!,” I said. “If I have it, then she has it. And it is going to be pointless for me to be treating myself if she is just going to reinfect me every time I nurse.” The nurse sputtered and told me she would speak with the doctor and get back with me. I’m not sure if she was sincere or just trying to blow me off. It has been three hours and I am about to have to do another excruciating feeding, so I am thinking about calling them back and giving them hell. If I’m coming off as cranky, it is because I am so cranky. Sorry, nurses. Work with me here.
In the meantime, I have been boiling all the pacis for 20 minutes, washing all my sheets and towels in vinegar and baking soda, and washing and drying all my undergarments in the sun. I’m also having to let myself stay dry and air out as much as possible. The nurse at the OB’s office said once I start taking the medication, the pain is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. It’s a good thing I picked a real easy and low key malady to have.
Have any of you dealt with thrush? What did you do to clear it up? Any and all advice would be appreciated. I have never had it before with any of my other babies, and it is really kicking my tail.