No sooner did I blog about a new mystery ailment I am courting, when I was found myself suffering the joy that is Shingles. Nope, not making this stuff up. Mystery ailment has been put on hold for now.
You probably know that Shingles has something to do with the chicken pox, right? Well, I am here to tell you more. The varicella-zoster virus causes chicken pox. The varicella-zoster virus can also reside in nerve tissue in your body. When you become immunocompromised - because you have been undergoing chemotherapy, for example - the varicella-zoster virus can "awaken" and then BAM! nerve pain like you have never experienced.
Now what would have woken this little bugger up you ask? Apparently stress can trigger a Shingles outbreak. Hmmmmm.
And so another week and a zillion prescription meds later, I am forced to lie in bed for about 17 hours/day. I keep my fingers crossed that the pain will be controlled enough that I can sleep for a few of those hours.
As I sit in bed tonight I am reminiscing about this very night 7 years ago when I was looking at Todd while shaking and saying (pleading?), "this is a RI-DI-CU-LOUS amount of pain!!!". On the night of October 23, 2003 I wasn't suffering from Shingles pain, I was experiencing contractions.
Let me back up a bit. 10 weeks before my due date I suffered a torn placenta. I was in the hospital for days, passing out, losing blood, and trying to mentally prepare for a 10 week premature baby. I remember getting to the hospital where a bunch of nurses and doctors were running around me as I faded in and out of conciousness. My blood pressure kept dropping and I would pass out, come to, and pass out again. During a moment of conciousness I remember looking at Todd and saying "I swear. I promise. I will do whatever they tell me to do just as long as I don't have this baby early." And I did exactly what the perinatologist asked me to do - lie in bed, all day, everyday, until my due date. It was horribly painful - emotionally, not physically. I was desperate to lie motionless if it meant my baby would be okay.
And on October 23, 2003, my official due date, I went into labor naturally. My first born son was born the next morning and he was a silly 8 pounds 15 ounces. He was supposed to be named Eric . . . but one look at him and we knew he was not Eric. He was perfect, but he was not Eric.
Kyle Owen and I spent 40 weeks sharing a body. He and I fought like crazy for the last 10 so that he could enter the world as healthy as possible. And healthy Kyle is. This morning he played a double header and immediately went on to play a soccer game this afternoon. Kyle is fast, and smart, and kind. He isn't perfect, but he owns a piece of my heart.
Happy Birthday, Kyle . . . to both of us.
