The Sad Face of Eczema

Yup there it is. The sad, sad, face of eczema...

It belongs to my son Mehkai...or you can call him by his middle name Alex like we do :)

This post is a little long so abandon ship now...or read the tragic tale if you must.

Alex was born the most gorgeous little baby with beautiful soft skin, all his fingers and toes, and all of his other bits exactly where they were supposed to be. And the first week home from the hospital was exhausting but quiet and comfortable. I slept when he slept and we coochie-cooed the whole day long.

And then something happened...

He started a few red pimples on his face and his scalp looked "kind of dry" with some flakes on it here and there. Everything I knew about babies said that he could have baby acne and shed a layer or two of skin while he acclimates to the new world he's living in. So no problem right? Wrong.

The pimples became less individual ones and started forming closer and closer together on his skin and they were quickly turning into these raised, disc-like shapes. And it didn't stay confined to his face either. It started spreading. From the face to the forehead, the forehead to the scalp, the scalp to the back of the head, the neck, the ears, and all down his body. This whatever it was...it was everywhere. And in a matter of days the disc shapes no longer looked like disc shapes either, it was changing fast into basically just one big "rough patch" from head to toe. He looked like he had laid down on a tightly woven mat that had left it's red, raised, latticework impression on his skin...only it was his actual skin.

And my baby's temperament? He started crying ALL THE TIME

Trips to the doctor weren't any help. I was told that my son's skin was dry and to "put Vaseline on it". Well I went through tubs of the stuff and my son left grease marks everywhere but still his condition didn't improve. And my ex? The baby's father? All the time he wanted to know what I was doing to make our son look that way..seriously

And strangers on the street? They looked at him with pity and they asked me what was wrong with him. I couldn't answer them because I didn't even know myself.

I was hardly ever able to put the baby down or have a moment's peace to myself and at that point I was beating myself up thinking maybe I was doing something wrong and I hated that I couldn't fix it.

Eventually the baby and I stopped going out and I became somewhat of a recluse. You could come to my house at any time of the day and still find me in my pj's, with Bob Marley dreadlocks forming in my matted and unkempt hair.

Day was night and night was day because the baby never slept for long. And when he did sleep I just kept him next to me in the bed and it was easier for both of us that way. The crib was where I kept the laundry I was too tired to fold.

And the actual nights? They were by far the worst. He was always much more agitated at night than during the day. I rocked him, I sang to him, I carried him, I fought with him, I begged him, I cried with him, I tried to sleep next to him, I stayed awake night and day with him, and I just about lost my mind with him...

Even though he was so little he learned to scratch the rashes that he had and that made things so much worse. So I put baby mittens on his hands but he always found a way to get them off. When he did sleep which wasn't often, I swaddled him. At first with a regular old blanket but he broke out of that to scratch. So we moved onto a zippered swaddle and he mastered getting his little hands free in two nights. Next came the Velcro swaddle and that was no good either. So then tried double swaddling him with the first layer being the old blanket and the second layer the Velcro swaddle. He looked like he was cocooned and waiting to turn into a butterfly. I remember waking up in the middle of the first night and seeing one of his little arms waving free and the other one scratching his face to bleeding all over my bed. And the bleeding thing happened all the time. I took the good sheets off the bed and replaced them with old ones because the stains were not coming out of the others.

And my baby's father moved to the spare bedroom because it was all too much for him to handle. He couldn't stand to hear him cry and I get that, I really do. It's heartbreaking. But eventually we became like two ships passing in the night. And then he just couldn't take it anymore and lost his mind. We had a huge fight. We're talking middle of the night drunken freakout. He blamed me for the problems with our son and he said things that went straight to my heart and broke it forever.

I made the decision that we weren't safe there with him that night but he wouldn't let us leave. I made it as far as my car in the driveway with my kids but he forced us back inside the house with a knife from the kitchen butcher's block. My daughter was quick-thinking though and she bolted from the driveway and went to get help for us. She flagged down a passing car in the street and they called the police.

My ex was forcibly removed from our home by the police that night. And it is only by the grace of God that he wasn't shot. Because there was a knife and children involved, the police surrounded the house.

I had grown worried about my daughter who was out in the street alone for such a long time. I went with the baby to the living room window and when I looked out there was an officer with a rifle right beside the window. He motioned me to move away. I cowered in the corner covering my baby with my body just in case we ended up in the crossfire or something.

My ex who had just gone to the kitchen and thrown the knife in the sink, was on his way back to the living room when the police busted the door in and wrestled him to the floor and took him away. He is lucky to still be alive today.

But we are even luckier to be free of him :)