every body’s got issues: My psoriasis diagnosis
I was sitting in a doctor’s chair, only covered by a hospital gown. Three dermatologists stood in front of me before checking my skin and sifting through the hair on my scalp, one doctor on each side of my skull. The chief physician started testing the others, asking for probable diagnoses. It felt like I was on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Once they were through, all three in front of me again, the dermatologist tells me, I have psoriasis — and an eruption of perioral dermatitis.
“It’s a minor case,” he said. With his hands together and his fingers intertwined, he had a concerned look on his face. But I was just stoked to have an answer for the mysterious red patches and chronic itchiness. No kidding, I was smiling and nodding at him like he just told me that I was the healthiest person he’d ever seen. And I was stoked, I felt relieved.
But on my way home I started to cry.
I have psoriasis. It kept sounding in my head over and over again. I’d never been diagnosed with anything really, and now I have a skin disease. What about the pain in my knees? The stiffness in my neck? Do I have psoriatic arthritis too? My curiosity (and my fear, I won’t lie) dug itself a rabbit hole. And google supplied the shovel.
So, of course, I had to get some tests.
I knew giving blood made me uneasy but damn, I didn’t expect to pass out. “Just to give you a heads up, this kind of stuff freaks me out,” I said to the nurse. “I’m pretty sure it freaks everyone out,” she assured as she walked me to the room and sat me in her chair.
And it sure as hell doesn’t help that my veins hide too. She checked my right arm before switching to my left, here we go.
“I feel weird.”
My eyes blinked open as if I had just woken up from a dream when I realized I was in the nurse’s chair. She couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes as she asked if I was okay and sighed in relief that I didn’t break the needle in my arm. “I wasn’t able to get enough blood, so you’ll have to come back and do it again.”
Fuck.
I spent the whole next week overthinking a fucking blood draw. I even had my boyfriend come with me to hold my hand… pretty pathetic… kinda sweet? Luckily, this time went much smoother and my results came back pretty normal. Then why do my joints hurt so bad? Is it normal to start feeling joint pain in your mid-twenties? Maybe it’s from the amount of time I’ve spent scrubbing baseboards and bathrooms.
Whatever it is, I don’t really want to keep digging, especially through the veins my arm.
You know, I’ve gone back and forth with this a lot (like my brain tends to with most things), my thoughts dug so deep to the extent that I thought I’d have to give up snowboarding for the rest of my life. Quite dramatic.
Yeah, it makes me insecure. Flaky skin, dandruff, red patches — not necessarily flattering. Achy joints, itchy skin, not really comfortable. But it’s also not the worst thing ever. I know people who have it worse, little people. While I can offer myself grace and sympathy for the discomfort and insecurity, I have to remain humble. I am so damn grateful that I have the ability to move, breathe, see, smell, hear, etc. I am so damn grateful to have the simple abilities that comes with being human, that a lot of humans don’t have.
Now I just look at it like a health-gauge. When those little red patches start to show up, it’s time to let go of the stress. Notice my habits, where’s the root of the inflammation? Check in with my body, bring it back to balance. And it’s just that much more motivating to sit in frozen tub of ice.
Unfortunately, sometimes it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Utah’s cold, dry air.
So, while I can honor my own experience with my body and this life, I don’t want to dig too deep. I don’t want to give myself more reasons to think there’s something wrong with me. Although we are born with god given abilities that should perform perfectly, no human body is perfect. And most every body’s got issues.
It only seems fair to share a few embarrassing photos.
xo Bai
