I’m taking a small detour in this week’s posting. I normally rant about politics, sports and the like, but this week, I’m going to rant about something very personal to me; psoriasis. Yes! That’s right! I’m going to deal specifically with plaque psoriasis; the particular brand of crap that I’ve had attached to my body since late 2000. This stuff is a complete and total pain in the ass. Now before I get into this thing, I’m not complaining….well, o.k. actually I am complaining. But I fully understand that things could be so much worse. I’m not lying in the hospital awaiting a kidney or death; whoever shows up first. I don’t have cancer, and as far as I know, my colon is clean as a whistle. So I’m not trying to say my lemon is bigger than your lemon; because it likely is not. But that doesn’t make it suck any less!
Psoriasis is an immune disorder where the skin cells are trying to fight off an infection that doesn’t exist. Thus, I get large, and sometimes painful, scaly patches anywhere there’s friction. Friction, of any type or frequency to one suffering from psoriasis is like sandpaper. There’s no cure for it, and no one seems to know how it is acquired; though it is hereditary.
Sometimes, as I lie in bed, I find myself wondering why I have to deal with this crap. Is God punishing me for some past sin? (Good luck narrowing it down to just one) Am I cursed? Why me? I have yet to find the answer to that question, and may never find it. All I know is that psoriasis sucks! The injections that I normally take are insanely expensive ($3000 per month), the creme that provides some relief gets all over everything I touch, and if I don’t treat the patches with something, they will pitch a fit, and crack and bleed. Nice, I know….
Socially, it doesn’t bother me at all, and often makes a very nice ice-breaker at parties and tailgating events. It usually goes something like this: “Chris, good to see you and Tammy. It’s been a long time man. How are things going with……what the hell is that growing on your elbow? Is that leprosy? Did we shake hands when you first got here?” It only makes me uncomfortable when I notice strangers eyeballing it, struggling to determine what it is. I feel sorry for them. I can even begin to imagine what it must be like for someone with a serious physical deformity; like three eyes, or six fingers on one hand.
Luckily, I am married to a great woman who doesn’t love me for my dashing good looks alone. She has actually taken the time to treat the patches I can’t reach or can’t see with my creme. Believe me, it ain’t all roses and gumdrops in some of those areas! She’s in the health care field, so it’s a very big deal to her at all. (Love ya’ baby!)
So the next time you see me, and you happen to notice that there’s a scaly red patch on my elbow or scalp, just politely ask what it is, and let’s get on with the tailgating! Didn’t your Momma teach you not to stare?
