nyyyyyurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhh
Cut for the benefit of medically squeamish
I'm itchy
Fucking itchy.
Itchyitchyitchyitchyitchy.
EVERYWHERE.
Tuesday, I'm slightly itchy in a few places. When I go to bed after the Daily Show, I see a small red spot on my underarm, but I chalk it up to scratch marks.
Don't sleep too well. Can't get comfy. Wake up Wednesday morning... holy shit! Bright pink splotches every-fucking-whichwhere. From just above the knees to halfway to my elbows, and everywhere (EVERYWHERE! No, seriously, eeeeeverywhere! Ow!) in between.
I go to the pharmacy, get some oatmeal and cortisol and benedryl, apply all that, and take a nap all afternoon with a sleeping bag (in case it was the bedding). It got worse; now it's from calves to wrists. Call Dad, get convinced to go to Urgent Care that evening.
Medi-peeps are... confused. I have no fever or respiratory things, so they don't think it's life-threatening; Scarlet Fever and dangerous anaphylactic shock are both ruled out. Any new detergents? Nope. Any new drugs, the over-everything spread kinda looks like a drug reaction? Nope, and I've never tested allergic to any... So they draw some blood to test for syphilis (!!), give me three prednisone pills, and a prescription for more prednisone and some kenalog.
Actually, I felt an awful, awful lot better about 20 minutes after taking the prednisone (providing support to the allergy-related hypothesis), and with the second dose this morning, the rash has visibly receded and faded, at least from my arms (my gut still kinda looks like I'm turning into Hellboy), and I'm certainly LESS itchy, but....
GODDAMMIT I WANNA CLAW MY SKIN OFF.
I am a Cranky Puppy. And the worst part is, Cranky Puppy can't concentrate. She doesn't wanna study. She doesn't wanna go sort boxes. She doesn't wanna pay bills. SHE WANTS THE ITCHY TO NOT-ITCH. She's also being a bit of a brat about it, in case you can't tell, and I'm sure her expansion of whiny-puppy noise vocabulary would be truly annoying to anybody else living with her, if they existed. Luckily, they don't.
Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
I'm itchy
Fucking itchy.
Itchyitchyitchyitchyitchy.
EVERYWHERE.
Tuesday, I'm slightly itchy in a few places. When I go to bed after the Daily Show, I see a small red spot on my underarm, but I chalk it up to scratch marks.
Don't sleep too well. Can't get comfy. Wake up Wednesday morning... holy shit! Bright pink splotches every-fucking-whichwhere. From just above the knees to halfway to my elbows, and everywhere (EVERYWHERE! No, seriously, eeeeeverywhere! Ow!) in between.
I go to the pharmacy, get some oatmeal and cortisol and benedryl, apply all that, and take a nap all afternoon with a sleeping bag (in case it was the bedding). It got worse; now it's from calves to wrists. Call Dad, get convinced to go to Urgent Care that evening.
Medi-peeps are... confused. I have no fever or respiratory things, so they don't think it's life-threatening; Scarlet Fever and dangerous anaphylactic shock are both ruled out. Any new detergents? Nope. Any new drugs, the over-everything spread kinda looks like a drug reaction? Nope, and I've never tested allergic to any... So they draw some blood to test for syphilis (!!), give me three prednisone pills, and a prescription for more prednisone and some kenalog.
Actually, I felt an awful, awful lot better about 20 minutes after taking the prednisone (providing support to the allergy-related hypothesis), and with the second dose this morning, the rash has visibly receded and faded, at least from my arms (my gut still kinda looks like I'm turning into Hellboy), and I'm certainly LESS itchy, but....
GODDAMMIT I WANNA CLAW MY SKIN OFF.
I am a Cranky Puppy. And the worst part is, Cranky Puppy can't concentrate. She doesn't wanna study. She doesn't wanna go sort boxes. She doesn't wanna pay bills. SHE WANTS THE ITCHY TO NOT-ITCH. She's also being a bit of a brat about it, in case you can't tell, and I'm sure her expansion of whiny-puppy noise vocabulary would be truly annoying to anybody else living with her, if they existed. Luckily, they don't.
Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.