By: Jamie Greenfield
Updated: Dec. 20, 2015
Originally Published: Aug. 2, 2015
“Are you having trouble breathing?” the nurse inquired over the phone. Just an hour after starting my first dose of antibiotics, my scalp began to itch, and I felt a warm flush across my torso. My initial thought? “Oh no, not lice again!” I rushed to the mirror and was greeted by one enormous hive that stretched from my head to my waist. As I frantically dialed the family practice, I guzzled whatever liquid Benadryl I could find.
After receiving a 125 mg steroid shot in my backside, I returned home just in time to greet my kids as they got off the school bus, feeling a little high on life—or maybe just on drugs. Who needed a nap when I was buzzing like this?
And that was just the start. My doctor prescribed me a 12-day steroid regimen. Less than 24 hours later, I popped three pills on Saturday morning. At the swim meet, I was a whirlwind of energy—pacing the deck, cheering for kids I’d never met, volunteering to handle disqualification slips, and chatting up anyone who dared to engage. My mom friends couldn’t believe the difference from the week before when I was a sniffly mess, buried in tissues and tea.
By day three, I was a force of nature. While the kids were at school, I tackled laundry like a pro. When they returned home, I had to resist the urge to strip them down and toss their clothes straight into the washing machine. No dirty dishes lingered by the sink, and cereal boxes were neatly tucked away in the pantry instead of cluttering the countertops. I had morphed into my mother-in-law, the queen of cleanliness, and let me tell you, it was a little unnerving for everyone.
Day four rolled around, and I had chosen the hottest day of the year to volunteer at the kids’ school, overseeing kids decked out in medieval costumes jousting on the playground. Between the heat and the steroids, I felt like I was having a menopausal meltdown. When I got home, the reality of the end-of-year chaos hit me, leading me to text a friend: “I have exactly three days and about 2.5 hours until my kids are out of school for the summer!”
On day five, I scaled 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 knew my reign as Steroid Supermom was limited, but this binder might just keep my superhero powers alive. By 1 p.m., though, I felt the familiar pull of exhaustion—it seemed someone had stepped on my cape.
Days six to eight were a whirlwind of productivity. On the last day of school, I took the kids to see Inside Out. I laughed and cried during the movie, probably thanks to the ‘roids, but also because I could see the ideal parent I aspired to be: energetic, organized, and pain-free. Pre-steroids, I was a chaotic mix of Sadness, Fear, Anger, and Disgust. Now, with a little help from those pills, I had transformed into Joy. But like all good things, this ride was slowly coming to an end; I could feel Sadness lurking around the corner.
By day nine, I was down to one pill, but I compensated with an extra cup of coffee. My kids and husband headed to the lake without me, and at church, I managed to spill communion wine all over my dress—classic move!
On the first day of summer break, I was on a mission. I packed swim and camp bags for each kid and devised a plan for them to earn chore points toward an Xbox 360—progress meticulously recorded in our Summer binder.
That final burst of steroid-fueled energy carried me through a meeting on day 12, where someone remarked, “Wow, you seem so different from last time!” I shrugged and replied, “Tomorrow, the crash hits.”
Nearly two weeks after my hive explosion, I woke up to an empty pill bottle. When my 10-year-old daughter started whining at breakfast, I looked her in the eye and said, “Remember Sadness from Inside Out?” She nodded, and I continued in my kindest tone, “Mommy feels like Sadness today. You could drag me across the floor. I’m trying really hard, but I need your help.”
It took a few days to find my balance again. Now, the swings between Sadness and Joy aren’t so extreme. The chronic pain returned, and I often need to take afternoon naps. But the Summer binder? It’s here to stay. Perhaps the best outcome of this whole experience is the emotional language I now share with my daughter.
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