One down, a LOT more to go

That weird rash/eczyma thing all over my body was soon joined by a loss of appetite and difficulty swallowing. One of life's most enjoyable activities for me is eating, and I couldn't even do that anymore. No more chicken, pasta, veggies, no more potatoes and rice. Not even milk. The only exception, the only thing I would eat: little Cheerios, like manna sent from heaven.

Mom and Dad took me back again to the doc because I wasn't sleeping/eating well, and also because that sandpapery, bumpy, evenly dispersed rash was starting to subside but in its place I was developing large red bumps like bug bites. The doc looked in my throat and found that I had blisters back there. Remember all that drooling and business about molars possibly coming in? Turns out it was probably the beginning of this virus, and the drooling was because I couldn't swallow. Since I didn't have blisters on my hands or feet, he ruled out hand-foot-mouth disease, and said it must be a throat virus. However, he still thunk that my bumps and "bug bites" are eczyma (this was after he read my chart saying I had eczyma and after barely even paying much attention to my skin).

Mom, however, in her non-medical opinion but armed with common sense and the ability for high-level deductive reasoning, thinks that they are related to the virus or the heat, and are in addition to the more classic eczyma symptoms I have in the folds of my elbows, neck and scalp. (And between you, me, and the internet, Mom hasn't been particularly impressed with my doctors these days. In fact she's been downright disappointed with them.)

The exciting news was that this viral diagnosis came from the doc just one day before my first birthday bash! The doc said that three things will make my eczyma worse -- hot baths, sun, and sweat. So it wasn't music to my doc's ears that my party was being held in a park. Right then, it became *vitally* important that Mom and Dad secure the prime spot of Clover Park not because this particular area had grouped tables and grills, but because it was *shady*. We decided that the party must go on, so Dad and Mom got up at 4:30 in the morning and staked out the place at the park. No one else on earth was determined (or crazy) enough to be there before dawn, so my parents won the prize.

After they covered the tables and unloaded all the BBQ gear, Mom went back home and Dad slept on one of the tables in a sleeping bag. It was probably the best stretch of uninterrupted sleep he'd gotten in a few nights -- until the police came. You can watch the full story on the next episode of COPS, but to make a long story short, they let my bad boy pop stay at the park because they were convinced that he truly was there to BBQ (bags of charcoal and party goods at his side) and not to sleep off a bad hangover.

Anyway, six hours later the party began! About 70 people came, and it was cool in the shade. I did pretty well, with little fussing despite my discomfort. Mom and Dad think that all the activity just distracted me from my throat and skin, and in the end we had a great time.


So thanks, everyone, for coming to my party, and thanks to Lau Lau for traveling all the way from Florida to be with me, and to Halmoni and Haraboji for making so much food -- critics reviewed that, "the meat was to die for."

By the way, if anyone took photos during the party, would you please send your photos to Dad or Mom? They were too busy eating and chatting to take very many pictures. But what we do have, you can see here in our Flickr account!