Oh the Drama: How SinuCleansing Led to Hormonal Meltdown #3

“I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” came my not-so-muffled frustration through the phone to Mike, who worked his hardest to pretend this was a rational, normal conversation one may have with his wife.

“Well, what can I do honey?” he said calmly. “I promise you – you’re not getting a cold…it’s just allergies,” he tries to say convincingly. I begin to picture his co-workers gathered around his office space, giggling at the crazed woman whining about the sniffles vs. something more hard core like health care reform. What a highlight in their week it must be when the pregnant woman calls to go insane and they are exposed to it via their 5X5 corkboard walls. I see men exchanging bets and vowing never to go through it with their own wives, women without children just shaking their heads and those with families nodding understandingly.

“AUGH,” is all I can muster. “I’m going to Walgreens.”

For those of you who know me well, you are quite privy to my intolerance for any kind of illness, particularly if it involves the words “cold” or “flu” and my laundry list of meds to tackle the issue is down to about five. This is the same girl who will wear surgical gloves when she discovers her next-door-colleague has a cold or wears a mask on the plane at the first hint of a rough cough or snarfling nose. Not to mention the guilt that fills the heart of any pregnant woman who just has to give in and settle on some Tums, Colace, Benadryl or Tylenol PM just to make it through a given day…

Tearing through my third drug store parking lot, I’m half-tempted to march (ok, waddle) my behind up to the drive-through window and demand the Zicam swabs, Sudafed or hell…maybe some tequila at this point to take the pressure off of my sinuses, but instead resort to combing the aisles for some BreathRight strips and regular Zyrtec. Deciding that the entire state of Kansas and Missouri must be struggling with my exact same stuffiness issue, I retreat out of what feels like my 200th trip into the store and try to find God in my heart vs. going postal on some innocent stranger.
From State Line to 151st, Shawnee to Mission, it’s a no go for the supplies I need to manage the sinus infection growing worse by the nanosecond. Sure, it doesn’t sound like a big deal but you marry that to the many other symptoms a girl’s got goin’ on during her ninth month of pregnancy and it’s a whole new ballgame…

Finally, I settle on the infamous Neti Pot, a ridiculous but safe contraption that filters saline water through the nasal passages to provide relief. Grabbing the SinuCleanse brand, I drag my flip-flopped feet out of the store and start psyching myself up for this rather unpleasant procedure. It had been at least a year since I’d used one, and if I remembered correctly, it was similar to what it must feel like to drown in one of the Pacific Ocean’s largest waves.

Arriving at home, I dart (ok, again, waddle) to the kitchen sink and quickly scan the directions, emptying the distilled water and saline concoction into the simple, plastic bottle. Having just forced Mike to endure the Neti Pot, I attempted to pump myself up and enter into tough guy mode to get a little relief. Inserting the black plastic end on the right side, I began the ritual to freedom.

“AAAAHHHH” I screamed, sputtering and gasping into the white porcelain of the sink. “Wha? What’s going on?” said Mike excitedly, the pounding of his tennis shoes coming down the stairs as if anticipating the baby’s birth. Saying nothing, my eyes filling with warm tears, I pushed forward…because of course now I really had something to prove (by the way, this is not a glamorous thing to do in front of your spouse, particularly if you’re still into impressing him/her). Trying again, I shove the nozzle into the left side and try to remember my deep breathing from childbirth class. Instead, I’m met with the same gush of water exploding from what feels like all crevices of any piece above my neck, and a choking sensation like when you hear a great joke on your last swig of Coca Cola. Fed up, I began making noises that perhaps only a peacock or some other strange animal could interpret…

Me: “I ccaaannttt even doooo this…..” mingles in with some sobbing. “HOOOOWWW AAMMM II SSUUUPPOOSSEEE TO BBBIIIRRTTTHHH AA BBAABBBBBYYYY?????????”
Mike: “Honey – calm down.” (note: not an option at this hysterical, hormonal point) “Did you try….”
I can’t even hear his words as I bend at the waist, stretching into my belly and feeling the congestion seep into what feels like every pore in my body. Tired, frustrated and feeling taken over by some demon you might see in a horror flick, I launch into another tirade that again, does not seem to be English….

Me: “IIIII…..sssuuuccckkkk…..soooo haaarrrdddd….wwwhhhyyy ccann’tt…noooo moorreee….stttuuuppiiddd Walllgreeens….”

Tucking me under his arm, my knight in shining armor silently and swiftly removes the devil Neti Pot and leads me upstairs to the safe place…the bath. With candles lit and classical guitar playing in the background, I settle into the warmth of the waters (saline-free I might add) and let ridiculous, unwarranted crocodile tears drip down my cheeks as I sniffle like a kindergartener. Tacking on a BreathRight strip and settling in for at least 30 minutes with my latest fiction book, I sit quietly and lose myself in the plot.

The next morning I wake up hysterical again…but this time with laughter. Seriously? A freaking Neti Pot sent me over the edge? This from the same girl who can most of the time hang in the board room, work her friends through their warranted hard times and get through a sand volleyball game with a broken limb? It made no sense. Breakdown number three – check. Who knows what it will be next in the four weeks remaining…maybe something life altering like running out of my favorite jelly, tripping over a pair of shoes or dialing the wrong phone number? Unfortunately, only time will tell!

Now you share: what ridiculous thing has sent you over the edge, pregnant or not?