Here's a chronology of events. Warning: No details have been spared. A woman in her thirties shares, so here you go:
Two Wednesdays Ago:
I have a conversation with another Mom at Little Gym. 'Hand Foot and Mouth Disease is going around. Be careful with Anna.' I smile, nod, and do a couple extra swipes with the hand wipes before leaving.
Last Saturday morning:
AB wakes up with a fever, and is strangely inconsolable all weekend. I take her in to the doctor on Monday, who confirms she's got the 'Mouth' version of Hand Foot and Mouth. Poor Pumpkin. But by Tuesday, she's just fine.
While sitting at Little Gym, a fever hits me like a semi. I turn to my mother-in-law and say, 'Something is wrong with me; I think I'm sick.' By the afternoon, I am begging her via text to come over, bring Tylenol, and take care of AB.
Blisters begin forming on my fingers. Just a couple. I can handle this. L calls from Oregon to tell me he's not feeling well. I close my ears and try to think about other things.
Blisters are covering my fingers and are forming quickly on my feet. Throat feels like I have swallowed knives. L comes home from his business trip flushed with fever. Oh crap.
Blisters have formed in my nail beds. My feet have swollen to epic proportions, and walking feels like stepping on chards of glass. I call my Mom in the afternoon and cry. L discovers his first blisters. I wonder if we are in the movie Contagion.
Friday night. 1:00am:
The swelling and pain are so bad that I call my doctor. She tells me that I might have a blood clot and I need to go to the ER. I spend all night in there, each and every doctor telling me how rare it is that an adult gets Hand Foot and Mouth. Then they tell me there's nothing they can do, especially since I'm pregnant. I resist the urge to throw punches.
L and I are a sight. Neither of us can walk. Blisters are forming on my ears and elbows. The bottoms of my feet look like someone took a blowtorch to them. AB, however, is doing just fine:
A little leisurely reading with Dan while Mommy and Daddy suffer.
There is hope. The blisters are changing colors from pink to purple, and they don't feel quite as horrible. I discover that wearing L's flip-flops helps. Suicide is looking less likely.
L and I are better. Not 100%, but the fact that I can type this post without wincing is a big step toward recovery. And for the first time since Wednesday, I am able to stop and be thankful that it was us that got it so badly, and not Anna. That Yoda is fine and still baking nicely despite all of this. That I have in-laws who come over at our beck and call when we need them.
And that this, along with this unendingly dramatic pregnancy, is almost over.