Hopefully the Second Time is the Charm

This morning I took my last dose of Accutane. Hooray!
For the uninitiated, Accutane is a potent drug, laced with annoyingly crazy side effects, used for the treatment of stubborn acne. I affectionately refer to it as “the devil in a yellow capsule.”
Yep, it’s a whole lot of fun to take.

My first round of this stuff, taken when we lived in Georgia, was not successful. Well, it was for a month or so, but my skin revolted and my acne returned with a vengeance last summer. Just what every 32 year old wants!
Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to appear youthful for as long as possible, but not with the complexion of a 15 year old.

The unwelcomed reoccurrence brought some really nasty breakouts that have left some unfortunate scarring on my forehead. The scars will hopefully fade overtime, but I’ll never have a complexion that can go make up free in public, confidently.

As this round of drugs comes to an end, I’m not feeling very positive that my skin will stay clear. It didn’t work once. Why would it work this time?
I’m somewhere between cautiously hopeful and counting down the days until my next breakout appears.

Nevertheless, I’m happy to be done.
I’m excited to have moisture restored to my skin.

I’m thrilled that my lips and the corners of my nose will no longer be dry and cracked.

I’m happy to be done with a drug that increases cholesterol and triglyceride levels and causes horrible birth defects.

I’m glad that I no longer have to drag a sleeping Caroline to the lab once a month for blood draws and pregnancy tests at 6:45 am. And then having to wait until 7:30 am to find my doctor and ask her to put my lab tests in the computer, which she forgot to do the day before.

I’m happy that the lab won’t have the opportunity to lose my urine again. Yep, you read that right. They lost it.

I’m glad that I don’t have to wait for an hour in the pharmacy to have my number called, only to have to wait another 20 minutes for the pharmacist to do all the paperwork required to hand out the sensitive prescription.

I’m SO excited that I will no longer have to search for a parking space on appointment days. The hospital at Ft. Belvoir has a horrible parking situation; one that never fails to incite great annoyance within me. Which reminds me of last month’s appointment when some guy convinced me that he needed the space I staked claim to. He gave me some sad story about having a big truck and needing a long space; and insured me that there was a short space two rows down for me to use. I’m a kind person. I gave in. You know, random acts of kindness and all. I took off, letting him have my sweet space and some other joker pulled into MY short space before I could get there. Guess where I parked? A quarter of a mile away down by some tennis courts. Did I mention that there was snow and ice on the ground that day? My shoes got wet.

And finally, I’m thrilled that I no longer have to take ridiculous iPledge quizzes about birth control practices.

Blah, I’m in quite a funk today.
Tired and sore.
I think I need new running shoes.

Tomorrow we’re taking Flat Stanley to Washington, DC. We’re taking him on the Metro, to see the cherry blossoms and to visit the Capitol building. Don’t be alarmed if you hear any news reports about a one dimensional paper cut out yelling rude comments to law makers on Capitol Hill. He’s been listening to Rush Limbaugh with me this week and is quite displeased with what is happening in Washington these days. Assuming Flat Stanley doesn’t wind up in jail for his potential raucous behavior, we’ll have lunch at the Air and Space Museum, as well. My one complaint about the National Mall area is that there aren’t a whole lot of options for food. They have little snack huts, but we’re not hot dog eaters. Caroline, like many kids, has McDonald’s radar, and we found one at the Air and Space Museum. She’ll happily eat her chicken nuggets, all cut up into tiny pieces. Just like a baby.

This morning Caroline wanted a change from the Carnation Instant Breakfast she’s been having in the morning. She requested something more substantial, like a Pop Tart, so I just cut it up into little squares for her. We eat the Fiber One brand and they’re softer than the Kellogg’s kind, which is great for her busted up mouth. This whole experience has reminded me of feeding her when she was a toddler. Little bites of cheese and fruit. Applesauce and yogurt. Soft, over cooked pasta.
A perpetually messy face.

This injury has really caused Caroline to slow down at meal time. She takes food quite seriously. Even in the cafeteria. While all the kids are yakking and picking at their lunches, Caroline is down to business, refueling. No time to talk until the food is all gone. That’s a major feat for a chatterbox like Caroline.
At home she shovels the food in as quickly as she possible so she can get outside to play faster.

I’m happy she’s been forced to take her time, but regretfully, this slower pace has not turned her into a neater eater. Limited mouth space = food everywhere.

And her face?
Still perpetually messy.

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