Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Google. Sometimes better than going to the Doctor and wasting 15 bucks

So yeah. Lay this one on your husband when he comes home after a long, hard day of work.

"I need a new engagement ring and wedding band."

Some of you who have been following my Facebook Status with all my whining of my corroded finger know that very recently, I developed a nasty, itchy, blistering rash under my wedding ring. Now, I know I packed on some LBs with the pregnancy so my rings have gotten a bit snug but a blistering rash. Really???? I haven't worn my rings for more than a week and it is killing me because I HEART my rings. I wore them my entire pregnancy except for one week when I retained enough water to fill a pool. And during that week, I STILL tried to get them on every morning.

Like I do with every rash, cramp, ache, pain I get, I Googled "ring rash" early on. Just as I suspected, I would have to have very sensitive skin to be allergic to platinum. I may scar easily but thankfully I don't have sensitive skin and unfortunately Hell's Bells did not inherit that from me. But, hey, who knows, my body has defied science before so it could be likely I might be allergic to it. From my findings, I pretty much determined that the weight gain caused my rings to get a bit tighter and since I wash my hands about 150 times an hour now, water and soap was getting trapped under my ring thus irritating it. After I thought it cleared up I wore my rings again one day for a couple of hours. The next morning I woke up with an alien finger again; I decided it was time to call the Doctor. It was going to take almost 2 weeks to get an appointment and that was not even with the doctor, it was with a Physician's Assistant.

I spent a very itchy week coating my finger in a mixture of Neosporin and Cortisone five times a day. The blisters spread and I popped them and poured Hydrogen Peroxide on my finger. It itched so bad I wanted to cut my finger off. I called the Doctor everyday to see if there was a cancellation. I was able to score an appointment ONE DAY earlier. By that time, my finger was almost completely healed with just some residual redness and chaffing. I felt dumb even showing up for the appointment but I was hoping she would give me a steroid cream to use the next time it broke out. AND THERE WOULD BE A NEXT TIME.

I sat there with the PA and showed her my rings while telling her about the oozing blisters and the itching.

"I know I am not allergic to platinum. I am pretty sure of that. It is probably just getting irratated by water getting trapped under those holes and soap so I probably just need a cream and to lose 15 lbs."

"No, you are probably allergic to platinum." She said.

"Um, platinum is the most hypo-allergenic metal out there. There is a very SMALL percentage of people allergic to it and those are probably the same people allergic to air. Are you sure it is not just soap and water under a now tight ring?"

"No. You are allergic to platinum."

"Well, do you want to test me to make sure before I go home and tell my husband that I need new rings?" I mean, really. JUST A THOUGHT!!!!!

Turns out they didn't have a platinum test patch because that is how rare an allergy to it is.

"Let me go ask the doctor," she said before leaving the room.

Lucky for me, the doctor was eating her lunch across the hall (despite it being almost 4) so I could hear everything Dummy and the Doctor were talking about. Basically, I heard the Doctor tell Dummy everything that I just told her. That it was unlikely I was allergic to the metal and it was most likely soap and water getting trapped under the ring. Basically, the only cure is to let this rash clear up entirely for another week or so and then put my rings back on. When I come home, take the ring off and make sure when I wash my hands move the ring to another part of my finger so my finger dries. That doesn't solve the whole water in the hole of the rings tho but in Dummy's world it make perfect sense to trap the water under the ring on ANOTHER part of my finger. Genius.

"Well, I guess I will just take them off when I wash my hands," I said. Sounds logical.

'No. I don't recommend that. I had one patient lose her ring that way."

"Could happen but isn't that why we have insurance?" Now I was arguing with Dummy. I was going to get my $15 co-pay's worth.

She had no answer for me. Shocker. It became blatantly obvious to me now that she got her degree because she had great skin. She gave me some steroid ceam samples and told me to come back in 3 weeks to see her. Why don't I just use the samples and give myself $15.

Friday, May 08, 2009

Stranger Danger

Since we put Hell's Bells in her own room I have slept like crap. For starters, I am on the other side of the bed (see two posts ago as to why) and I cannot get used to it. I have also become a SUPER LIGHT sleeper which is a drastic change from the there-could-be-a-bomb-going-off-in-my-room-and-I-would-have-no-idea way I slept pre-kid. I now have to sleep with the door open which for some reason makes me think that the Nightstalker is going to sneak in and behead me by morning. No sense in telling me this couldn't happen because I will tell you what I tell The Hubs. YES IT CAN and i bet at least one of his victims said the same thing. I guess this is where watching all the ID Network while i was preggo kicks me in the ass.

But, I also can't sleep because of my fear that someone is going to steal our baby in the middle of the night. The bedrooms are on the second floor, my husband argues. And yes, they are. But, if anyone wanted to steal a baby, they would find a way. I almost did a no-sleep-until-we-get-an-alarm protest. I can again attribute this to watching the ID Network and now all the Law & Order I watch. Particularly, SVU. I have this fear that I am going to wake up in the middle of the night just in time to see hands snatch her from her crib. Or, I am going to wake up and see an empty crib. I relay this fear to my husband and he tells again that I am nuts. I always have the same response.

"I bet Polly Klaas' dad said that to her mom too."

And it always renders the same response from The Hubs, "Who?"

Apparently, I am the only person who remembers the names of abducted kids.

Regardless, I think it is pretty legit fear that my husband laughs at. I am haunted by it in a major way. The other morning, after The Hubs left for work, I was drifting in and out of sleep when I swore I heard someone whispering to Bella in her room. The person was whispering to her like they knew her. I sensed danger and immediately sprung out of bed just in time to see a small, skinny woman with a black hooded sweatshirt standing at the top of my stairs holding my baby. The person saw me flying out of the bedroom door and darted down the stairs. I am not too steady on my feet when I first wake up so it felt like I was running after her with broken ankles. I woke up. Obviously, I was dreaming but it was very realistic and I woke up with my heart pounding and scrambling to look at the monitor where Bella was fast asleep. I was too freaked out to sleep.

Needless to say, that afternoon, I fashioned my own Stranger Danger deterrent but too much CSI made me way too paranoid about the teenage boy living behind me.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Date night and the reason why I am why I am

So, Friday night my folks were kind enough to watch Hell's Bells while The Hubs and I went out alone. Of course, they would have done this very nice gesture if I said, "We really need a night out alone" but it helped that our night out alone included going to watch their grandson, my nephew in his second school play. I talked my husband into asking his boss if he could be home by 5. Kinda sad that he has to request that but in the day and age of "I'm lucky to even have a job" most people would work until midnight if their boss asked them to.

The Hubs made reservations at Kona Grill because he knows how much I like their filet and wok tossed veggies. Honestly, I didn't care what I ate so long as I knew I could use both hands because one wasn't busy rocking a stroller or shaking a carseat to calm a crying baby. Hell's Bells has gone out with us many times but it was time for mommy and daddy time, no matter how good I got at rocking the carseat with my elbow as I ate a cheeseburger.

My folks came just in time for me to change out of a spit up stained Fish Taco T-shirt and into something cleaner. They were probably in the house 3 minutes before The Hubs and I flew out the door while I yelled back, "See ya, suckers!" It wasn't until we were halfway out of the complex when I realized what terrible parents we were. Neither of us said goodbye to the kid. I contemplated going back but we were too giddy with excitement that we didn't want to cause a possible upset should she realize we were leaving her.

We got to Kona early which was a good thing because after hearing there was half price apps in the bar area, we decided to sit there forgetting the service was going to be a lot slower because more time waiting meant more time drinking which is their plan but not mine. I wanted a wine, a margarita, a martini, even a beer but I don't drink so after two sips The Hubs would be leading me to the car like a stumbling drunk. I stuck with my diet coke. It didn't take either one of us long to say that it felt like something was missing. That it was completely weird getting out of the car and not having to pull out the carseat and unfold the stroller. Soon, a familiar face from work walked through the door. Since I had not seen her since I left for maternity leave, she wanted to see pictures of the baby and I was more than happy to oblige.

Now, I have a problem. I cannot ever accept a compliment for myself but if someone comments how cute Hell's Bells is, all I can say is, "I know!" The Hubs informed me the correct response should be "thank you." Whoops.

Soon, we were left alone again and I started commenting on the people around me. Of course, being home for 10 weeks, I was totally over stimulated by looking at so many people, I didn't know who or what to comment on first. It didn't take me long to hone into three guys huddled around talking to each other ignoring two girls standing next to them talking to each other.

"That is the problem with your gender," I said. "Three guys standing there ignoring two girls."

"The problem with my gender?" The Hubs said. "Why aren't the girls talking to them?"

This turned into a whole debate about how meeting people in Fairfield County sucks. I lived in this county my whole life so I can't really comment but I have enough single friends to know that this is probably true.

"It's easier to meet people in other places," The Hubs said. "When we would go to Cancun, we would always meet people."

Yes, but it was usually a drunken spring break in Cancun thus making it easier to meet people because your standards are lower and you aren't really looking for much else than a vacation fling.

"It's not even this hard to meet people in New York City." He added.

Can you tell The Hubs is a wee bit more passionate about this topic than me? This is for two reason. 1.) I was never a bar person. I hated bars. Still do. 2.) I was never a single guy so I didn't feel all that pressure his gender feels. I mean, sure, I was a single girl but out on the town, the pressure is more on the single guys. I just kind of sit back and laugh because all the bar hopping his friends did. All the drinks they bought for girls. All the hopes of getting some numbers on a Friday/Saturday night? All the rejection they withstood. All the games of wingman? And where did almost all of them end up meeting their wives/girlfriends including him? Yup, Go figure. I wanted to mention this point but probably thought it might be a sore spot so I stole the last piece of sushi roll while he wasn't looking.

I was reminded of something a friend said to me recently. A newcomer to Stamford, she said she was surprised a native like me was willing to meet new people because it has been her experience that FFC folk are unwilling to meet new people. That we seem to have our people and we stick with them. I went through my mental phonebook and it turns out that I must prey on people new to the area because I have about as many newcomers as I do natives. I don't know why but I like extolling the virtues of Stamford on newcomers. Not even so much what a great city it is, but all the great food we have and how nice it is to be so close to NYC without paying to live there and still not have to take mass transit. But, honestly, FFC folk are, for the most part, snobby and keep to themselves. We tend to not be friendly to outsiders because we have this mentality hence why a bunch of single guys from Monroe with decent jobs, relatively handsome, overall nice and snappy dressers couldn't meet a girl in a bar here no matter how many drinks they paid for.

Dinner was over and the debate had ended on a positive note, as all debates should end, with my husband telling me how lucky he was to have met me. And I responded to that the same way i respond to compliments about my kid, "I know." On the way out, my familiar face from work was sitting outside with other familiar faces so again, I was forced (read: willingly whipped it out) to pull out my phone to share pictures of Hell's Bells.

"Oh my god, she is so cute."
"I know!"

Obviously, I learned nothing from my husband's prior lecture on my inability to be humble when it comes to the kid.

We had time to kill before the play so we decided to stop home and drop off the leftovers and say proper goodbyes to Hell's Bells. I was sorry the second I walked through the door. My parents looked like they had been through the wringer. She was calm now but we evidently just missed a screaming and crying jag that outlasted my parents' nerves. "Grrrrrreaaaat," I thought. "They are never going to want to do this again!" My father still had hearts in his eyes for his granddaughter, but my mom looked shellshocked. Then again, I have found that most men can tune out a baby's wailing but women just can't do it. But, they were both willing to stay while we went to the play. We kissed Hell's Bells goodbye and thanked my folks profusely before running out the door again.

I can tell now, it is going to be a looooooong time before another Date Night.