Oh Phudge!!

"P" is for Perfect

Today is brought to you by the letter "P". An innocuous letter of the alphabet to be sure. Unlike it's counterparts "F" and "C", "P" is not typically thrown around as a stand-in for a naughty word. For example, you don't normally hear someone saying, "I don't give a P", or "She's such a P word". No. "P" stands on it's own. With the exception of that tricky "Ph" combination, one wouldn't really think of "P" as an outstanding letter of the alphabet.

That all depends on where you're coming from.

When I was 22, I had a bad case of strep throat, coupled with tonsillitis. Being allergic to penicillin, I had to take a less potent form of antibiotic. Instead of kicking the strep to the curb, I was layed up for a week with drug Z. Luckily, I was also prescribed Tylox - a narcotic pain reliever - so I only was awake for 2 out of 7 days. I still yearn for those nights of zombie-like slumber. There's no sleep like a Tylox sleep.

After waking from my 7 day slumber. I yawned, stretched and headed back to work. I was happy. I had lost weight and gotten a week off! I could fit into my my going out dresses that required one to not eat for at least 12 hours prior, without having to starve! Everything was okey dokey in my book.

After a few weeks or so of being back at work, I noticed these small reddish bumps on the inside of my wrists. They itched like a bitch and seemed to be multiplying by the day. I asked my Mom what she thought they were, and she suggested we go to the doctor to get it looked it. It was probably a rash of some sort after being in bed for so long. That's what I was thinking, at least. OK. So you might be scratching your head and asking, why would you get a rash on your wrist from being in bed too long? Zip it! I don't know. I was guessing and 22...never a good combination.

I saw the doctor and he told me it was an allergic reaction to the antibiotic I had been on. Here take this steroid pack for 7 days. Ok. Sure. Doctor's know, right?

I started the pack, and as I awoke on day 3, I felt like my skin was crawling. I felt itchy and scaly. I felt like ants were crawling all over my body. I stumbled in to the bathroom and turned the light on. I will never forget what I saw. My face and body was covered in pink, angry, blotchy patches. I looked like I was blushing from every part of my body. And the itching. My Lord, the itching.

Now, mind you, in between getting over strep throat/tonsillitis and the appearance of the "splotches", I moved in with my boyfriend at the time. Side Note: The only positive thing I will ever say about this guy is that he was absolutely supportive and non-judgemental of my skin. Otherwise he was and remains a mother"P"er.

I made an appointment with a dermatologist. I seem to have a knack for finding the kookiest doctors practicing in Northern New Jersey. This was no exception. As a matter of fact, I think she takes the cake of nutballs that somehow managed to wrangle a degree out of some University.

This doctor came in to the examination room in a dress of silver lamé, open toed shoes of dyed red ostrich skin, and chopsticks with a silver lamé bow and peacock feather in her hair. I kid you not. She either listened to her own drummer, or had missed the calling for extras in "The Birdcage". It was not off to a good start.

She took one look at my wrist and face and said it was Psoriasis, and that by taking the steriod I had only made things worse. My ignorant self asked what I could take to clear it up. She said "it will never go away, it's a lifelong condition that has no cure". Just like that. In this purely dismissive tone. The peacock lady in silver lamé told me it was Psoriasis and I'd have it for the rest of my life. Holy hell, I was 22. She stretched out the skin on my wrist until the now diagnosed Psoriasis faded to a faint pink and said, "That's the best you can ever hope for." I was shocked. I was saddened. I was angry. Most of all, I wanted to rip the goddamned peacock feather out of her hair and ask her if Hannibal Lecter provided her with bedside manner tips.

She gave me some creams to take home, warning me not to use them on my face because it could cause skin atrophy (!) and advising me to visit an office that had a UvB light therapy box. As I digested this information, I found a small kernel of bliss in the fact that I didn't have to visit Dr. Cruella DeVille again. Apparently light boxes would kill her perky pinky spirit.

I found a wonderful office that offered early Saturday morning light box appointments. My boyfriend and I would wake at 7am every Saturday so I could stand for "x" amount of time in what amounted to a tanning booth. The time increased with each visit. Light boxes offer safe(r) treatments of UvB rays, that are known to help alleviate the appearance and symptoms associated with Psoriasis. Along with this treatment, I was prescribed a more hollistic Coal Tar Cream, that I was to spread over my entire body every night. I smelled like a tire playground at the height of summer. Alluring, I know.

At this point, the Psoriasis had taken over every part of my body. While my face was spared a lot of the heavy "plaques", my arms, torso and legs were virtually covered. I used to look at my legs as one looks at clouds,tyring to find figures in the Psoriasis formations. As I said, my boyfriend at the time was wonderful about it. The Mother"p"er.

I did my homework and started researching this condition. As some may know, Psoriasis is a genetic immune disease, which is currently incurable. A sudden shock or trauma to your system can bring it on. Strep throat is a huge trigger. I joined the National Psoriasis Foundation (link below) where I discovered that people who live with this disease, shorten it’s name to simply, "P".

"P" is for Psoriasis.

I won’t say I handled my diagnosis with the utmost grace and aplomb. Over the years, I have learned to handle the stares and the whispers. The pokes and the head nods. I’ve had full clearing of my skin - due to injection treatments and a fateful visit to a remote lake in Washington State that has healing mud. ( It might sound crazy, but it worked.) I’ve had huge relapses that required medical leave of absences - and the need to wear gloves in public to pick up my medication from the local drugstore. I know that I can never commit a crime because my DNA will be all over that scene. That’s what really hurts the most. I’d make an excellent criminal.

In the end, you are who you are today because of all the things that helped make you you, yesterday. Does that sound trivial? I suppose it is. You were born with certain gifts and certain traits, and other things were picked up along the way. I guess the journey and the life lesson is:  what we DO with those things that make all of the difference. I know I’m learning that day by day.

I also know that "P" can stand for "P"erfect.

With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo

For more information on Psoriasis and Psoriasis related conditions, please visit:  https://www.psoriasis.org/