The Itching Continues

Yesterday after a week of steroids, eye drops, and allergy meds I was actually in worse condition than upon my first visit to the doctor. Thoroughly frustrated, irritated and over it, I marched myself into the office, sat upon the table, and laid out my woes to the nurse who looked rather confused. I told her I did not think the drops actually contained any meds, and whatever the problem was, it had yet to be properly diagnosed.

My eyes were in a very sad state of swollen, crusty, weepy, red and generally disgusting. Not being entirely accustomed to looking like an entity that should be avoided at all cost, not to mention the pain associated with these lovely symptoms, I was not in the mood for anything less than complete, total and immediate relief. My doctor checked my eyes, checked the rashes which had by now had migrated to my neck, and were closing in on my face with a rapidity that was terrifying, and then sighed.

"Jenny, did you get a new pet?"

"Yes. A cat moved in three weeks ago." I answered.

"Are you allergic to cats?"

I did have the grace to feel slightly sheepish at this point. "Well, I am allergic, but as long as I wash my hands immediately after touching a cat, I'm fine."

The doctor looked me over. "Jenny, the cat is living with you, not visiting. There is dander all over your house now. You can either go on a stronger steroid, or get rid of the cat."

So Cahfee was booted to the garage yesterday. Margarita actually slept in the garage with the cat so Cahfee wouldn't be so lonely. I don't think I've ever catered to a new born that much. 'Course, I'm the mother who intentionally puts the bassinet in the closet so I can sleep even if the aforementioned new born is hollering his wee head off, so I probably shouldn't compare and contrast Margarita and me. It is going to take a few days for me to clean out the house enough that my symptoms go away. My eyes are still sore and red, but I'm finally on the mend.

Good Grief.