A Rash of Guilt…

So…

Last week was pretty much the week from hell for me. Truly.

It was the first week of spring term, so I had a crop of new students–with all their issues–who demand my attention constantly, because, you know, that’s what my job is. Or something.

Then, Jack was having some major issues. Weird behavioral stuff–which was hard to deal with when I was trying to deal with the new crop of students and their issues.

THEN, because I wasn’t losing my mind enough already, I was fighting with my daughter’s school (she attends a public virtual school) because they adamantly refuse to let her test alone. See, they still have to take the state testing. And they pile these kids in to a classroom. Like a bunch of kids. On top of each other. They keep telling me that it’s not a big deal. It’s only a week of testing. Even though I have mentioned the fact that if she would bring home some illness it could potentially KILL her brother. They don’t really care. However, they are more than willing to allow me to drop her off and they will have a teacher there to meet her to escort her in. Which to me, was basically like trying to put a band-aid on a bleeding artery.

FINALLY, because I needed something else to do…I got a letter from the University. They said, “Dear Heather. Thanks for your money, your time, and all that good stuff. BUT, we don’t accept students from Georgia any more.” So, I had approximately 24 hours to meet the deadline for admission on any other school in the country’s Master’s Degree programs in Nursing Education. Thank goodness, the one school that had–literally–a 3-day away deadline–also had an awesome advisor for me. Or maybe she’s not that awesome but she felt bad for me when I was crying hysterically and blubbering about like a baffoon. Who knows?

So, when it was finally Saturday…I woke up, I stretched, I got out of bed, looked in the mirror…and nearly died.

There was a rash all over my body. An itchy, itchy, itchy rash. I tried to ignore it for 2 days. It wouldn’t let me.

By Monday, I thought I was going to scratch my eyes out or at least open my skin to some awful superbug infection if I didn’t get help.

Off I trotted, both kids in tow, to the dermatologist. A beautiful dermatologist. Her skin was flipping flawless. Oh, and she had a male nurse (Murse) who was named Luke. Which was fine, until, you know, they make you get all naked…and I kept thinking “his name is Luke. Do not look at how pretty he is. Think about Lightsabers and Jabba the Hut.”

Anyway, after the whole office oogled my skin, they determined I was having an allergic reaction to something on top of probaby some stress induced something else. They gave me some prescriptions, a bag of samples, and a sheet of paper describing what I was to do every day for the next 3 weeks until they see me again. Buy this soap, this shampoo, this cream, this lotion, do this twice a day, do this other one three times a day…

And I thought–“NO! How on earth can I do this. I don’t want to spend all this money on stupid soap because I can’t handle stress and I’m allergic to air.”

I threw the kids in the car and headed home…

Later, during a conversation with my sister in law, I saw the light. Sorta.

She said, “Heather! If Jack needed some medicine to make him feel better, would you not buy it because it cost too much?” I said, “Of course I would buy it you silly….”

And then it hit me. She’s right. I really can’t walk around covered in some raging rash. I have to take care of myself or else I can’t take care of anyone else.

But the guilt. It’s rough.

PS. This is not an April Fool. These events actually happened.

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