Friday, I’m in Love

My aunt is a graphic designer-slash-promotional material maker-type person, and one of the side benefits to the screen-printing portion is that my family gets every blasted runoff mailed to us in a big-ass package once or twice a year. As a result, I have an ungodly amount of day-of-the-week T-shirts in a size meant for only the largest among us. I used to wear them to the gym and now, I typically wear them to bed, as they are among the few left that sort of cover my belly. I’ve yet to wear them on the proper day — to do so would, at this point, seem weird and a little contrived, because why start now? And besides, Saturday’s shirt is never clean on a Saturday anyway.

However, I included one in the hospital bag, as it’s a comfortable pajama-type thing that I don’t mind getting gross, should there be grossness (and I am promised that there will be grossness). Thursday, I think. I can’t help but wonder in an odd sort of way if this is maybe portentous, in a vaguely ironic sort of way. I shall now look at every Thursday with an eye of deep suspicion. I’m onto you, Thursday.

I like Friday better than Thursday, however. Or, you know, Saturday, so that Adam’s paternity leave can be a wee bit longer. Or whenever. I’m cool with whenever. Provided it is more than a week from now, because …

Yesterday I came down with a mild case of The Herp — by which I mean cold sores — which is distressing for many reasons, but mostly that if I were to go into labor right now, there could be no baby smooching AT ALL which is, not to be dramatic, pretty devastating. There would also be an inordinate amount of hand-washing and panic about where my lips might be and did I touch my lips during all that grunting and panicking? Am I going to kill her with herpes not five minutes after she’s arrived? WHY, HERP, WHY?

I’ve been self-medicating with Abreva, as per usual, which seems to be helping, and I mentioned this during my now-weekly appointment at the OB’s office to a stand-in non-practicing midwife who I will never see again (they were down a doc/midwife due to many babies arriving today) (yay, babies!). My God, she was HORRIFIED, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Okay, you know that’s herpes, right? And do you get them … anywhere else?”

Seriously. First of all, while the two types of herpes are generally the same virus (HSV1 & 2 classifications notwithstanding), not everyone with one has the other. In fact, MOST people with one don’t have the other. And secondly, seriously? Do you think I’d get THIS FAR in my pregnancy, much less LIFE, without knowing I had genital herpes? And wouldn’t make some kind of CONTINGENCY PLAN in case of an outbreak?

I … oh heavens. I’m not sure if it speaks to her mistaken assumption of my ignorance or to that of the general population who would just blithely walk around with painful, itchy open sores on their hoo-has and not think it’s something worth mentioning to the doctor, especially given that someone’s HEAD will be EXITING PAST THAT REGION very soon. Especially a very wee someone with a paper-thin immune system.

She then took my hand and gently advised me against oral sex “during this time.” Again, oh good heavens, what KIND of women does this person work with? So many things wrong with the visual she brings forth, but again, it involves open sores lurching towards private parts, a lack of common sense, and for the love of God no, just no, and again, I question the intelligence of someone who wouldn’t realize this.

This also makes me laugh until I can’t breathe when you consider that I lumber around here like Roseanne Barr and have begun to resemble an elephant. And an elephant with open sores wearing a T-shirt that screams “MONDAY” in giant fake newsprint font on a Wednesday, no less. (No really, I’m wearing one now.) In other words: HOT.

(Aside: don’t Google “cold sores and newborns” because you’ll be regaled with a British couple whose baby DIED because of a cold sore on the mom and … well. Nothing like Dr. Google to add to the panic of an already-panicked time. However, let it be known that it is VERY RARE, and hers was a primary infection — her first — not a secondary one, and long-term Herp sufferers of all kinds pass antibodies to our wee ones through the bloodstream into the placenta, so they are protected to some degree already. And herein ends our herpes medical lesson for the day.)

(This does not mean, however, that I’m not calling an actual doctor tomorrow to see if I can snag some Valtrex, because honestly: BABY KISSING. And DEATH. And … oh MAN.)

She also kept referring to her now-defunct practice as “midwifery,” pronounced “midwhiffery,” which I know, I KNOW, is the right way to say it, but it always makes me think of people taking very deep breaths — whiffs, if you will — of another person’s midsection, perhaps while they’re giving birth. MIDWHIFFERY. It sounds stinky.

MIDWHIFFERY.

Am catching up on e-mail now that my arm is semi-functioning by the way. So if you’re waiting for one from me, feel free to rejoice, as tomorrow is your day. I’m so sure you can hardly wait. Huzzah!

Happy Wednesday!

*The Cure

24 comments February 18th, 2009