I was expecting my first child, and for the most part, my pregnancy journey had been relatively smooth. Heartburn plagued me mercilessly, but I managed it with high-dosage antacids. I felt like a balloon, swollen beyond belief, and all I craved were Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and popsicles. It was July, and I kept the air conditioning set to a brisk 58 degrees to cope with the heat.
Though my blood pressure was a bit high, my doctor didn’t seem overly concerned, as I wasn’t displaying other symptoms of preeclampsia. Around eight months into my pregnancy, a friend asked if I had developed stretch marks yet. Surprisingly, I hadn’t—my skin had remained intact, and I felt a bit guilty about it since it seemed like a rite of passage for many pregnant women.
A week passed, and my unhealthy diet of Cheetos wasn’t doing my heartburn any favors, but I continued to indulge. Eventually, I noticed my feet starting to itch. My dog often curled up on the couch, so I figured she must have fleas, and now I was facing a flea infestation. I had no idea how to deal with that.
The next day, the itching spread to my hands, and soon after, my belly began to itch as well. I dismissed the belly itching as a typical pregnancy symptom while I desperately searched online for answers to “Can humans get fleas?” and “How do I get rid of fleas?”
But the itching intensified. My husband urged me not to scratch, while the nurse hotline suggested anti-itch cream and dismissed it as mere stretching skin. Nothing provided relief, and soon I noticed the stretch marks I thought I had avoided. They multiplied rapidly, transforming my belly into a canvas of broken skin.
I could cope with the stretch marks, but the relentless itching was unbearable. By the time I saw my doctor again, my belly resembled a large scab. She diagnosed me with pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy (PUPPP) and informed me that the only remedy was giving birth. There was little else to be done.
As the days dragged on, the bumps on my legs and arms faded, but my belly looked like a scene from a horror film, and it felt just as torturous. I explained to friends that PUPPPs typically occur in women carrying boys, especially during their first pregnancy, but no one truly knew why. Their attempts at sympathy often fell flat, and comments like “That’s so strange,” only heightened my frustration.
As I approached the end of my pregnancy, my doctor checked my blood pressure and examined my belly. I voiced my discomfort, and she finally agreed to induce labor a week early. As soon as I gave birth, a wave of relief washed over me—though it might have been due to the distraction of having a newborn rather than a mere rash. Within a few weeks, the rash cleared, leaving behind a battered belly. With each subsequent pregnancy, I found myself anxiously inspecting my skin for any signs of a recurrence.
To all the expectant mothers out there, consider this your warning. If you find yourself among the 1 in 200 women who experience PUPPPs, remember that it will eventually subside, but not without testing your patience. For more insights and support, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
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Summary
This article recounts the author’s challenging experience with PUPPPs during her first pregnancy, detailing the discomfort and frustration caused by this condition. With a mix of humor and honesty, she shares her journey and offers a warning to other expectant mothers.