I’m still dealing with hives. Not daily, but every other day and in painful doses. Saturday a large welt appeared on my ankle bone and inhibited the free movement of my foot. Sunday morning I had to limp out the soreness.
This morning after tossing and turning with a sore arm and wrist, I finally got up and took an aleve at 3:00 a.m. I thought it was sore from the yard work. This morning a large welt running from the inside of my elbow down and around to the top of the arm a few inches from my wrist had appeared. It was causing the pain, which I would describe no less than "vice-like".
I’d had enough and made an appointment with my family practitioner. Diagnosis? Hives. With the luck I’ve been having, I was prepared for him to tell me it was a rare bone cancer or lupus or some other incurable auto-immune deficiency. We’re going to try a round of steroids and see if that can tame this problem before my vacation. I was a little frustrated that he spent more time discussing my last miscarriage (finally had some spotting this weekend. CD1 later today or tomorrow.) and how God has this plan for me and is using my miscarriages to create the person he wants me to be.
I’m not sure how creating a bitter, depressed, and disillusioned individual is part of the "greater good".
The current fashion trend is driving me to drink (more). I hated the skinny, short tops, but these billowy tent-tops and empire-waisted blouses are like having a herd of pregnant women with ages ranging from 15 to 51 around every where I go. I look at them and ask, "are they or aren’t they?" until they either move out of sight or until they notice my laser-like stare and discreetly clear their throats to bring me back into reality.
Would you believe I even went and tried some on? I tried the kimono style, the tie-back, the elasticized bands, etc. All they did was emphasize what is not there. I thought that even if I found one that looked semi-flattering, it would either be perceived by others as if I was pregnant, which would mean fielding some rather uncomfortable and painful questions or attempting to look pregnant externally when in fact I was just the owner of an overused and underutilized uterus – a living sarcophagus (A Greek word for "flesh eater". Funny, that.).