The Heartbreak of Psoriasis

Since childhood I have had psoriasis. For those of you not familiar with this skin condition, it basically appears as thick, red skin with flaky, silver-white patches called scales. I imagine it's the stuff that the average leper appeared to have in biblical times. I was going to include a picture from the internet, but frankly when I Googled  psoriasis images they were so disturbing I couldn't bring myself to do that to you. Honestly, there were body parts I couldn't even identify, and some I was rather surprised to see. Who knew you could get it there??

It's not contagious in the least, though many clueless uninformed people have avoided me like the plague when it's flaring up. I believe it's my psoriasis that helped develop my self-deprecating sense of humor. If you make fun of yourself, no one else has to bother.

Since adulthood I have had fewer flareups than I did when I was a kid. Unfortunately, however, some of them have been doozies. For a family trip to Costa Rica several years ago I was covered from head to toe. My face even got into the game which it never had done before. Generally, the facial area is exempt from "the heartbreak of psoriasis." 

After being relatively clear the last couple years, my skin is showing signs of preparing for an all out attack. This is not particularly convenient given my new gym membership. For tang soo do I could hide all my imperfections in long sleeves and pants, but at the gym, I'm going to look pretty silly covered from head to toe and sweating bullets. In addition, I have an April vacation to the Outer Banks with friends, and a trip to Puerto Rico in June for work. Put me in a bathing suit and I feel terribly exposed and rather creepy. Needless to say, it was time for a trip to the dermatologist, and off I went.

What I determined today is that going to the dermatologist is more painful than the psoriasis itself. I had a 9:30 a.m. appointment, and they called three people ahead of me. Either they triple booked 9:30, or were seriously behind schedule. Thirty minutes in the waiting room did nothing to improve my already fairly rotten mood. And then, after they ushered me into the exam room, had me strip down and dress in that open-butt back gown, I waited another 15 minutes or more.

How do doctors stay in business with that kind of customer service? I can't imagine showing up to a meeting or sales call 45 minutes late and getting away with it by simply saying "sorry for the wait." And actually, they rarely say "sorry."  As I sat and stewed and waited, I considered asking one of my doctor friends about this purely medical phenomenon, but then it occurred to me I have no doctor friends. Instead, I'm flush with lawyer friends. And now I'm wondering what that says about me.

So anyway, the dermatologist was a nice, perky young thing who at least had the decency to take her time with me. Looks like we're going to try a new ointment, a treatment that has never actually cured me, probably because I don't have the patience to apply it to each of my individual 100 spots and dots. If that doesn't work, we'll give ultraviolet light treatments a shot, saving self-injectibles as a last resort. Fun stuff.

Still, when you consider all the ailments, conditions, and diseases one could have, I figure I'm getting off easy. And these periodic outbreaks keep my ego in check for those times when I'm turning heads for my stunning beauty. It's okay to laugh now...

Have a good weekend!