Well, I have thrush, and baby has thrush. We have been set upon by the evil yeast monsters. Which is amusing, because yeast HATES me. I can't even get a loaf of bread to rise. And now it has set upon us, like a plague. Perhaps this is why baby has screamed in the past when we try to get him to eat?
Midwife has prescribed Diflucan, and I have a call in to the pediatrician for an anti-fungal for baby. If she wants us to come in, it will be the third time this week (actually, the third time in as many days) that I've gone to the health center. And the doula is supposed to be here at 1:30 to watch baby so I can take down the Christmas decorations. Maybe if we're gone, she'll take down the Christmas decorations for me.
It feels like the Izzs are stabbing me in the breast with searing-hot paper clips. And this is pissing me off, because I've been tingling for days, and when I brought it up to the midwife on January 3rd, she pooh-poohed my suggestion that I had thrush, because it didn't hurt enough. Well, now it hurts, and will hurt for three more days once I start taking the Diflucan. Fuck.
My profound sympathies. I've found that ANY health professional with poo-poo your expert opinion of what is going on with your own body. Which means forcibly whacking them over the head to demand the treatment that you need. Because otherwise you end up waiting over the weekend in pain to go in and have them finally prescribe what they should have prescribed when you were less miserable — and then living through however long it takes for the medication to finally take effect. This advice, I know, helps not in the slightest at this point. It hasn't helped me either. But you have a thrushy baby to inflict on them. I just go in looking miserable and they just keep ignoring me as I stay the same.
Howz about I ship you my thrushy baby? Maybe that will get their attention. 🙂 I owe you a phone call. –LBJ