During my first pregnancy, things started off pretty smoothly. Sure, I had relentless heartburn that I managed with hefty doses of antacids, and I was swelling up like a balloon. My cravings were solely for Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and popsicles, and with the July heat, my air conditioning was cranked down to a chilly 58 degrees.
Despite having slightly elevated blood pressure, my doctor wasn’t too concerned since I wasn’t displaying any other signs of preeclampsia. At around eight months pregnant, a friend inquired if I had developed any stretch marks yet. I hadn’t, and honestly, I felt a bit guilty—wasn’t that a rite of passage for all pregnant women?
A week passed, and my Cheetos habit wasn’t doing my heartburn any favors. I was still munching on them while sleeping upright on the couch, and soon enough, I noticed my feet were itchy. I initially assumed it was fleas from our dog, who frequently lounged on the couch. The thought of fleas creeping on me sent me spiraling into panic mode.
Then the itching escalated. My hands began to itch, and soon after, my belly joined the party. I dismissed the belly itching as just another quirky part of pregnancy, while I continued my frantic Google searches for “Do humans get fleas?” and “How the heck do I get rid of fleas?”
As the days wore on, the itching became unbearable. My husband advised against scratching, and the nurse hotline suggested anti-itch cream, attributing it all to my skin stretching. But nothing seemed to help, and I noticed those stretch marks I thought I’d escaped—suddenly my belly was a canvas of broken skin, like a horror film gone wrong.
By this point, I was fed up. My belly looked like it had been through a battle, and my attempts to explain my condition—pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy (PUPPP)—to others were met with sympathetic but clueless responses. It mainly affects women carrying boys, typically during their first pregnancy, but the cause remains a mystery. Their “that’s so weird” comments did nothing to soothe my irritation.
As I approached the end of my pregnancy, my doctor checked my blood pressure and examined my belly. After hearing about my misery, she decided to induce labor a week early. The moment I gave birth, relief washed over me; maybe I was just too preoccupied with the baby to care about a rash. Within a couple of weeks, the itching subsided, leaving behind a battered belly.
Now, with each subsequent pregnancy, I find myself panicking at every itch, hoping that PUPPP doesn’t decide to pay me another visit. So, dear expectant mothers, consider yourselves warned—you might just join the 1 in 200 women who experience this. If it happens to you, just remember that it will pass, but not without testing your patience.
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