The Cold Sore War Is Over!

I can’t remember the first time a cold sore appeared on my lip but I always felt like I should have a little bell for ringing when one appeared.  I just felt royally unclean when they struck.  I have been plagued with them for most of my adult life. 

Cold sores; in layman’s terms these are unsightly, sore and a bloody awful nuisance.   

Medically they are described as being caused by the Herpes Simplex Virus.  They are notoriously contagious and can be passed on by something as innocent as a kiss, sharing the same towel as someone who has one and I won’t go into why the rigorous washing of hands is essential.

From the first sighting of that annoying little burning blister till the last piece of dry skin falls off, I am looking at a good three weeks of healing.

And nothing seems to speed up that process.  Believe me I have tried everything.   

Toothpaste is regularly bandied about as is aftershave.  TCP also gets a mention.  Tea Tree Oil, my all-time favourite essential oil, does nothing either. 

Instead of relieving me of my acute embarrassment, topical over the counter creams just relieve me of a tenner each and every time.

I was delighted when I discovered Labello containing SPF 25 and practically ate the stuff to prevent summer sun break outs. 

In the winter I always made sure I had Zovirax to hand.

But this proved to be all talk and no action as well.  For me at least.

Any time or any season, they would just pop up overnight.  I don’t even get that warning tingle anymore; I wake up in the morning and bam, there it is.  An unsightly blister on my lip.

I have never been able to source my trigger; sunlight, too much sugar in my diet, stress, a PMS thing, the break outs are just too random to link to any one thing.  So I get on with it and treat them accordingly as they appear. 

Cold sores.  The bane of my life!  Thankfully, their occurrence seems to have reduced somewhat but I still occasionally suffer with a break out. 

On adults they are pretty much par for the course; unattractive and rather-you-than-me ailments, but to see them on little kids used to make my eyes water. 

They just looked dirty somehow.  In my eyes the child must have been neglected, their diet was lacking and they were run down.

Then Oldest Boy started to get them.  He is just seven years old and already has had outbreaks for the last couple of years. 

He tends to get his on the cleft of his chin and they can be whoppers.  So much so that he now has a lovely scar as a result.

I am disgusted by this.  Young kids should not be getting cold sores and I can’t help beating myself up over the fact that it must have been me who “infected” him.  No-one else in the house suffers.

And so the search for the perfect cold sore cream started again.  On Oldest Boy I have used Blistex, Fucidin cream, Sudocrem and Zovirax.

All with much the same results that I had.

Then, I hardly dared hope, someone whose opinion on these things I respect very much, mentioned a product that is readily available in health food shops.

A product called Bio Propolis by A-Vogel.

I had nothing to lose and everything to gain plus another cold sore was sprouting but this time Oldest Boy said it was painful.  He never complained before.  So I went in to my local health food shop and purchased a tube for just €8.55.

It is surprisingly small but a little goes a long way.  The cream is quite thick and butterscotch in colour.  It smells lovely. 

These are the amazing results.

Day 1.  I applied the cream every couple of hours as directed.    

Day 2.  This day saw even better results.  The blisters didn’t even get a chance to pop.  They seemed to shrink and recede. 

Day 3.  Still no popping and certainly no scabbing over.  The cold sore seemed to be melting away.

Day 4.   Oldest Boy asked me why I was bothering to apply the cream as his cold sore had gone.  It was a beautiful sunny day and I wanted to make sure I had blasted the thing into oblivion.  I dabbed on a bit just to make doubly sure. 

This stuff is amazing!  I highly recommend it.  I almost want a cold sore myself to try it out first hand.  I have never seen something work its magic so quickly and so well. 

So what is Propolis?  Gather round because this is fascinating altogether.  I will keep it short but please read.

Propolis is a resin from bark and tree leaves which honeybees collect.  They combine it with nectar and use the mixture to seal and protect their hives from outside contaminants.  And, they also use it at the entrance of the hive to sterilise themselves as they come and go! 

How clever is that!

It is an ancient healer that can be traced back to the time of Hippocrates to heal internal and external sores and ulcers.  Even as recently as World War II it was used to treat battle wounds.  Propolis is an excellent natural anti biotic and natural immune system booster.

Nature’s penicillin.

I for one am hugely impressed and delighted to have found it.

If you suffer from cold sores, you know the misery of them.  Here is your chance to really, really speed up that healing process.  This product is also really nice to use on lips that are dry. 

In a nutshell, you just can’t go wrong with it.    

Joy Pockets for April

So the weather for April was not nice at all.  A bit poxy in fact.  It kept us indoors for the best part of it.  Awful.  So, imagine my surprise when, in the middle of the month, I saw something dart across the sky.  That familiar, unmistakable forked tail and the effortless swooping of our summer friend, the swallow. 

Nah, I said.  Can’t be.  Shur, the weather is shite. 

I drove on and collected Oldest Boy from school.  Imagine my surprise when, on the way home, I saw that same shape darting through the sky again.

Nah, I said.  It’s only 17^th April, the wind would blow him straight back to Africa and he’d be exhausted trying to catch flies in this weather.

Guess what!

I wasn’t wrong!  Swallows.  They’re here!  Joy pocket with forked tails.

C’mon Summer 2013.  Let’s be having a piece of you.  Please!

And now I will get on with the rest of my joy pockets for April.

Everyone needs good neighbours and Mister Husbands grandmother was fond of the saying “tall fences make good neighbours.”  Thankfully our fence is not tall and quite jumpable although I didn’t need to clear it the day I had to rush into the doctors with Smallest Boy to see if his finger needed to be reattached.  The two girls from next door didn’t need to be asked twice to sit with the older three boys as I did the needful.  Thankfully, Smallest Boy did not need surgery or stitches after his accident with the door. 

I have recently joined the twitter machine.  Because I have absolutely nothing else to do with my time.  I am still trying to get the hang of the intricicies of blogger.com and don’t need another headache.  But I did it.   And Marian Keyes, one of my favourite authors, retweeted one of my tweets.  Teeny tiny, but I got a small buzz out of it.

It’s a family affair.  I am delighted to report that Oldest Boy and Shy Boy are now coming running with me!  They don’t do the whole circuit but they put their hearts and souls into the best part of the kilometre it takes them to reach the hole in the fence where they climb through and go back to the house.  Little steps.  

Blowing bubbles on a perfect late Spring evening.

 

Music of choice this month is the excellent Kodaline.  A young Irish band from Dublin, who, if the meeja is to be believed, appeared on You’re a Star a few years back.  I am sure they won’t thank me for mentioning that.

Smallest Boy turned two at the beginning of the month. We are now officially a baby free household. 

Swallows may be the first visible sign of summer but so too are blossoms appearing on a tree and the  finding of a ladybird in the garden.

Today is officially the first of May.  The first day of Summer. I have waited all year, and all of last Winter for this day.

Swim Little Fishes

So the boys swimming lessons have changed day and time.

I received a phone call last week asking would I consider taking the Friday afternoon lessons instead of Monday as numbers were low and they were trying to make up the classes. 

No problem, I said, at the very least a late swim on Friday evening might keep them in their beds a bit longer on Saturday morning.

It was our first Friday afternoon lesson with Dolphins today, 19^th April.

Now, I am a bit sneaky when it comes to the changing rooms in the pool.  But only because it is virtually impossible to cram five people into a cubicle made for one.  So I try to make damn sure we are there in plenty of time to get a large changing room.

And furthermore, instead of placing 97 items of clothes, 15 shoes, several towels and three large sports bags in the lockers, I leave everything in the changing room.

I’m not supposed to.

But I do.

So that first Friday we toddled along and I was thrilled to discover the largest cubicle was free.  We got changed in record time and stood on the poolside wondering at which side Oldest Boy’s lesson was going to take place.

It kind of went downhill from there.

No-one seemed to know.  The instructor giving the lesson stopped a male member of staff to ask him.  Stress was bouncing off him in waves.  He answered her with a harried shrug and went on his way.

After it was decided the lesson would take place at the other side of the pool, we all walked over there.

I continued down a little further with the other three and sat Smallest Boy on the side so I could lower myself into the water. 

Shit!  Where was the floor??  The water was well up to my chin and although I am more than capable in the water, I am not so masterful with a two year old in my arms when I have to stand on my tip toes to hold him and at the same time, ward off those who want piggy backs.

When another pool person came my way I asked him was there any chance the floor could be raised a bit as I wasn’t managing very well.

He apologised and said that he knew the level was a bit high at that particular spot but the “lessons came in on top of him” and he hadn’t a chance to remedy it.  He had tried management who weren’t in the office and he didn’t know where they were just then.

To be fair to him, he did his utmost to get me into a section of the pool that was a bit safer for us but it was busy with lessons taking place and a public session also going on.

We got on with it and started splashing about.

Then the loud speakers came on.  Something was said about clothes, changing rooms, lockers and immediately. 

I put it out of my mind.

Until I heard it again.  Any clothes that are left in cubicles will be removed to the office.  I saw the life guard repeating it to a couple of girls who promptly jumped out and ran to the changing rooms. 

I was neck deep in blue water with three kids aged 5 and under by my side and another one a few feet away holding his breath under the water.  I was in my ill-fitting swimming suit hauling us all out to stuff our belongings into lockers and get back into the water again.

But I couldn’t rest.

I kept looking towards the changing area and expecting to see 5 people making off with armloads of our clothes.  I told myself the nappy and bra on the floor would scare them off.

They mightn’t though.

I lasted about five more minutes and then I hauled them out.  Our door was swinging wide open but the nappy and bra were still there.  As were all of our belongings.

Hurray!

Except I was pissed off.  Stressed and pissed off.  

I had handed over €105 euros for less than half an hour in the water. 

I paid €105 for twenty minutes of anxiety.

I had my doubts about posting this one because I sound ungrateful.  And in the grand scheme of things, the boys were none the wiser of the stress felt both by me and the pool staff, but that’s the problem.  Especially today.

People don’t complain enough.

I wasn’t happy.  I wasn’t satisfied. 

Oldest Boy was flying along with his lesson, having breath holding competitions under the water with two friends; the other three were with me, splashing along with their woggles and having water fun.

But the whole thing was ruined for me by the stress of it. 

Earlier on this year I emailed them about how cold the water was.  Even being in the water was cold.

I would watch the lines of kids on the pool side, during lessons, with their vibrating arm bands giving the person next to them friction burns because they were all shivering with the cold.  Once Oldest Boy’s lips were blue and he asked me to get him his towel because he was freezing. 

That same morning I got chatting to a lady who had travelled specially to use our town’s facilities as her daughter was competing in the Community games which were taking place in the leisure centre.

“Is it always this cold?”  She asked me.

So I sent in the email. 

No response.

I wasn’t expecting any but I felt it was important to give them the customer feedback they are always asking for.

I didn’t push the cold issue probably because I had ordered wetsuits to combat the shivering.

That email was on my mind as I wrote this post.  I couldn’t have them saying I was always giving out, could I?   I didn’t want to be seen as a nuisance or a pain in the arse.

Even if I whole heartedly believe it is the nuisances and the collective pains in the arses who get recourse from their complaints.  Exactly because they complain.  And loudly.

 So what did I do?

Nothing of course.  I dried the boys, walked them all out to the car and thanked the receptionist on the way out.

I will be back again this week, and the 8 weeks after that again, for more of the same.  I’m sure.

All the What If's.

Why is it after an upsetting event, particularly when everything turns out well, there comes a barrage of what ifs?

I have a photograph that is typical of the before and after shots you see in all the magazines.  It was taken almost two years ago and I hate it.  But I will always keep it.  Despite being at my heaviest ever, and tucking into a plate of take away plastic lasagne with cold rubbery chips, it serves as a reminder to me. 

It was taken the day Oldest Boy had to go to A&E for a chest x-ray.  He is in the photograph too, all smiles and excitement over the prospect of going to hospital.

He couldn’t catch his breath and his eyes were streaming but he was very much looking forward to that afternoon’s adventure.   He had missed school that day due to an impromptu doctor’s appointment; I thought he had a chest infection.  It wasn’t clear what the problem was but a nebuliser didn’t help him at all in the surgery and it was thought best to get it checked out. 

In the photo, I am looking straight at him and I can remember exactly what was going through my mind at the time.

I’m sure every parent has had one of those moments where their child’s life flashes through their mind. 

In the wind up, after talks of him having to spend the night in hospital and another round or two on a nebuliser, Conor was diagnosed with asthma. 

What a relief.  But still.

All the what if’s?

What if they hadn’t found anything wrong with his chest? What if it had been his heart? 

Last week Smallest Boy had an upsetting confrontation with the front door the day before his second birthday.  He had only just, that very morning, worked out how to open it without any help.  It was his second time to escape the house.  There is a nice drop out onto the ground and he cannot as yet navigate it so he sits on the step and lowers himself down.  This is how the third finger on his right hand got squished.  And squished quite badly.  He will lose his nail.  And most likely end up with a funny looking lump of scar tissue on his finger.

He lifted the entire finger pad “pulp” away from its moorings but thankfully didn’t damage any bone.   

You never ever want anything bad to happen to one of your kids, but if I absolutely had to pick a child for whom an injury to befall, it would be Brendan.  (Hear me, ye Gods.  I have not just jinxed myself further) it also happened at the right time.

If there is such a right time to have a ka-bluey.

We were just in from the school run as were our lovely next door neighbours so I was able to go with Brendan to the GP’s almost immediately and leave the older boys with people to watch them. 

Thankfully, although Brendan had removed his finger print until such time as his flesh repairs itself, he was in great form.  A real little trooper.  I gave him some painkillers as my own finger was throbbing something awful just looking at his and also pain relief was suggested by the GP.  But do you know what? I honestly don’t think he needed it.

I was waiting for sleep to claim me that night and that was when the what if’s started.

What if Brendan had held onto the door jamb instead of sitting on the step? 

The damage would have been much worse; I know that for a fact.  Quite possibly maybe even losing a finger.

What if he had lost a finger?  Would I know what to do?  I doubt it.

Everyone knows how frightening the prospect of something can be; in some cases it’s almost worse than the reality.  At least with reality you know what you’re up against and can take action.  The trouble with your imagination is it can go wild. 

I really had to tamp mine down after FingerGate.  Or FingerDoor. 

Smallest Boy was fine.  His finger not so. But both of them lived to tell the tale.  And he’s still telling it.   

As for me?  I’m off to find out how to preserve a severed digit.

I repeat, ye Gods, I have not just jinxed myself.  I have not.