Just call me Ivy

Hey, don't forget that I'm giving away free stuff this week. Need a tote bag or groceries? Then you need to enter right now! See the details here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No band-aid, nor bleach, nor OTC remedy could keep my body from transforming my right arm into something from "My Science Experiment." Two weeks ago Friday, I wondered why I had a small rash on my arm—unusual for my usual allergy-free self.

I think my brilliant husband may have suggested at that time that I had poison ivy, but I scoffed at the idea since I've never been overly allergic to it before (We're talking a sparse number of itchy dots in my 30 years, easily treated with Calamine and a J&J band aid.).

A few days later and I was itching EVERYWHERE—well, almost everywhere—and my poor right arm was growing angrier by the minute. I tried a few bottles of poison-ivy themed lotions and some antihistamines. No deal. I tried a poison ivy scrub and band aids. No deal. I tried—in utter desperation, mind you, knowing that it couldn't be a good idea and at the advice of several friends and family members—bleaching out the rash. No deal (but it did stop the itch for many hours). And then it seemed like I was making progress. So I resumed the bottle treatment and tried to stop the spread of the rash with bandages.

I was, officially, in a relatively irrirated state. But I had confidence that things would turn around, despite the crop of mini rashes popping up all over my limbs and abdomen. Feeling optimistic, I boarded a plane on Friday with Noah and zipped off to Madison, Wisconsin, to visit my sister and her family.

The visit was wonderful. The rash was miserable. And it got far, far worse in Wisconsin (not to mention the fact that it grossed out my hyper-allergic sister and made her extremely wary of the towel I used to clean off the mess every few hours).

By the time I got home on Sunday night, my arm was swollen to double its usual size, my entire arm was scalding hot with inflammation, and the itch/oozing was unbearable (sleep? ha ha ha). I made the decision to hit Urgent Care ASAP on Monday.

That ended up being at Noon, following the closing of our home refinance (hey, we're saving $200 a month, hooray!). I waited 1.5 hours to see a doctor, followed by a scolding for using bleach (I'd essentially layered a chemical burn on my already distressed arm) and for not coming in sooner. That visit was capped off by a shot in the heiny of Prednisone and a 10-day course of the stuff in pill form, along with a topical cream to heal my flaking, oozing, blistering skin.

Thirty-odd hours later, I am in love with Prednisone. My arm, though still a disaster and still crawling with itchies, is on its way to recovery. The oozing is almost gone. I am healing, hear me roar! I don't even care that the side effects of Prednisone are bummers: headaches, insomnia, heartburn, etc. I just know that in 8 more days, I should be itch-free. I can only imagine it at this point, and it sounds like my own little version of heaven.

I should have snapped a shot of my arm at its worst so you could fully appreciate this picture, but it gives you an idea of what I was dealing with. Believe me, my current state is about a 40-percent improvement, I'd say. It's magic! 

Picture to come; camera not cooperating.