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And Then
Someday, These Words Will Not Be Cause for Alarm
Cheap Thrills While I Tap My Foot
That Dark Brown Taste
If You Squint...
Little Nippers
Knocked Around
Stepping Lively? Hardly.
Everything Old is New Again
Some Flickers of Interest
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Well, it WAS All In My Head...
Until it showed up all over my face.
I'm no stranger to stress-related syndromes. When I was in college, I slunk off to the doctor and begged him to break the news about my incipient brain disorder gently to my mother because I was having double vision and smelling things that weren't there. As it turns out, I was just another high-strung middle-of-the-road migraine person. I just wasn't paying attention to my symptoms. (This as it turns out is a common issue for me. I frequently miss out on things that my body is doing because I don't pay close attention. I often thought I might not realize early stages of labor because of my tendency to be oblivious but that turned out not to be a problem for other reasons.)
Anyway, about a month ago, I started to turn into something sort of grim with weird redness, strange prickly patches (on my skin-- I'm used to those parts of my personality with those qualities) and general irritability. So I did what I usually do for skin issues: I ignored them and sulked, feeling increasingly ugly and unpleasant until finally it became clear that I should probably take action and go to the doctor.
Here's a PSA: go to the doctor if you have a symptom that lingers for a month. As it turns out I gave myself stress-induced rosacea and now only feel 88% like a leper. After a little laser blast for the worst of it (leaving unpleasant and distracting spot that I was PROMISED would go away-- here's hoping) and some cream, I am looking a bit more like myself. And I subjected myself (after being scolded for missing a year) to the full-body spot-scan as well. That bit of business really causes the heart to sink and makes one wish one had been more diligent about one's diet and exercise regime.
But I'll tell you this: there's nothing like a trip to the dermatologist when one is fully blotched-out to highlight one's decline. There, one will be surrounded by smooth-faced assistants and tecnhicians, patients too, living reminders, again, not to let things fester.
And believe me, it did take a little bit of strength on my part, on day 3 of school, when another parent waved a hand my way saying: "you've got something on your nose" not to say "oh yes, just a touch of leprosy."
posted by Elise at 12:31 PM
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Welcome (almost) to the 40's! Kids or none, it's a seminal event. I viscerally remember breaking out into road-rage acne in my late 30's with two little boys and a traveling man of a husband. Since my adolescent visage was marked only by the occasional mortifying zit, the prospect of waking up to roseola on my face every morning as a suburban car-pooling so-called soccer mom was panic inducing. Twenty years later and post-menopause, I still conduct inspection every morning looking (maybe hoping) for a tell-tale outbreak.
9/21/2008 6:55 PM
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