“Are you struggling to breathe?” the nurse inquired over the phone. Just an hour after taking my first dose of antibiotics, my scalp began to itch, and my torso felt like it was on fire. My initial reaction was to panic, thinking, “Oh no, not the lice again!” I dashed to the mirror, only to find a massive hive extending from my head down to my waist. As I dialed the family practice, I gulped down all the liquid Benadryl I could find.
After receiving a hefty 125 mg steroid shot in my backside, I returned home just in time to greet my kids as they arrived on the school bus, buzzing with energy from the medication. Who needed a nap?
This was only the start of my wild ride. My doctor prescribed a 12-day steroid regimen. Less than a day after my injection, I popped three pills on a Saturday morning. At the swim meet, I was a whirlwind, pacing the deck, cheering for kids I’d never met, volunteering to handle disqualification slips, and chatting with anyone willing to engage. My friends were astonished at how different I was from the previous week when I had been a mere shadow of myself, wrapped in tissues and sipping hot tea due to an upper respiratory infection.
By day three, I felt invincible. With the kids at school, I tackled the laundry. When they came home, I had to suppress the urge to strip off their clothes and toss them into the washing machine. The kitchen was spotless—no dirty dishes in sight. Cereal boxes were neatly returned to the pantry instead of cluttering the countertops. I had transformed into my mother-in-law, a woman who can’t rest until everything is in its rightful place. We were all a bit frightened.
Day four kicked off with my volunteer duties at the elementary school. I had chosen the hottest day of the year to oversee children in medieval costumes jousting on the playground. Between the steroids and the sweltering heat, I felt like I was in a menopausal haze. Upon returning home, panic set in as the end of the year loomed. I texted a friend: “I have exactly three days and about 2.5 hours until summer break starts!”
On day five, I cut back to two pills instead of three. After waving goodbye to the school bus, I sprinted home to create color-coded calendars: purple for swim practices, yellow for my daughter, red for my son, and orange for the few camps they would attend together. I was aware that my time as Steroid Mom was limited, but I hoped my meticulously organized binder would keep me soaring high. By 1 p.m., fatigue began to creep in, threatening to pull me down.
Days six to eight were a blur of energy. When my kids got off the bus on the last day of school, I whisked them off to see Inside Out. During the film, I laughed and cried—partly due to the steroids, but also because I saw the kind of parent I aspired to be: vibrant, engaged, and organized. Pre-steroids, I had been a mix of Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust, but now I felt like Joy. However, I knew the ride was nearing its end; sadness was lurking, ready to take control again.
On day nine, I reduced my intake to one pill, compensating with an extra cup of coffee. My kids and husband headed to the lake without me, and I managed to spill communion wine down the front of my dress at church—what a sight!
The first official day of summer break saw me packing swim and camp bags for each child. I devised a plan for them to earn chore points towards an Xbox 360, and diligently recorded their progress in our Summer binder.
My final surge of steroid-fueled energy powered me through a meeting on day 12. One woman remarked, “Wow, you’re a totally different person from last time!” I nodded, explaining, “Tomorrow comes the crash.”
Nearly two weeks after the hives appeared, I woke up to an empty pill bottle. As my 10-year-old daughter started to grumble over breakfast, I took a deep breath and said in my most gentle tone, “Remember Sadness from the movie?” She nodded, and I continued, “Mommy feels like Sadness today. I’m trying really hard, but I need your help.”
It took a few days to regain my balance, and now the swings between Sadness and Joy are less extreme. While the chronic pain has returned, I find myself needing afternoon naps. Yet, the Summer binder remains, and I’ve gained a valuable language about emotions to share with my daughter.
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