I haven’t talked about this much on here.
In fact, I haven’t said anything about it at all. I’ve mentioned my mastitis, talked a tiny bit about how hard recovery was for me, and kept most of my posts happy and geared toward finishing our new house and expanding our homestead.
But this is the other thing that has been dominating my life lately, and frankly, part of the reason I haven’t talked about it much is that I really, really don’t know what’s going on.
So, I’ll give you my best guess.
Right after I gave birth, I got mastitis. Which happens to be life threatening, if it gets bad enough.
And I was bad. When I finally got in to see the doctor, she immediately got me scheduled for x-rays to make sure I didn’t need surgery.
Thankfully, the surgery didn’t happen, but what DID happen was antibiotics. Three rounds of them. Nearly a month of pills. Which killed the infection… and quite a lot of the good bacteria in my gut. And Adam’s gut too.
A very short time after the last round, Adam’s skin started breaking out on his head and face. Sores, weeping pus, crusty, flaky skin… everything you can imagine.
That was back at the end of January. It’s still going on. Sometimes worse and sometimes better. We’re fighting it with every possible strategy you can imagine. Prebiotics. Probiotics. Antihistamines. Vitamin D. Anti-fungal meds. I’ve become the person I dread seeing at restaurants. I’m gluten free, dairy free, nut free, sugar free, peanut free, and corn free.
Oh, and I can’t have avocados either. We found that out after his face started swelling.
Suffice to say, we don’t sleep much. And my stress levels are not where they should be.
To be quite honest, it’s been driving me up the wall. Seeing my baby in distress, not being able to eat almost anything, and trying a million things with no improvement has made the last few months… difficult.
I told my family I’m ready to go on a pilgrimage to see if that will fix it. You know, the kind where you walk a hundred miles in sackcloth and stop every ten steps to kiss the ground and beg God to forgive you for being stupid enough to inflict three rounds of antibiotics on a new baby, even though they probably kept you from dying.
Yeah, that kind.
We’re taking him out in public tomorrow. Going to church for the first time since I gave birth. I’m… a little nervous. His poor skin looks so bad that I want to reassure everyone who looks at him—and myself—that I really do take care of my child. I am a good mother. I know to give him baths, but not too many. I’ve switched his shampoo. I’ve checked his laundry detergent. Believe me, if you can suggest it, we’ve tried it, and I’ve cried over my inability to change enough things and tweak enough things to just fix this.
Because I’m his mom. I’m supposed to fix it. I’m supposed to be the one who knows what he needs and how to take care of him. And right now, I can’t fix everything. Not right away. We’re slowly making progress, healing my gut and his, and I can tweak and tweak and tweak until I go insane, or…
I can leave it alone. I can let Jesus hold him for a while, and trust that time and His grace will be the true healers.
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