Symptoms

I’ve got a new skin thing.

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said that. Well, a dollar for every time I’ve said that silently to myself. Boy I'd be rich, head to toe Prada.

In the time before I can remember, my mother claims that I had terrible cradle cap and that I was the only baby she had ever heard of who was allergic to Ivory soap.

In the second grade I discovered a huge rash all over my stomach while working quietly at my desk. When my fear of the rash finally surpassed my fear of Mrs. Heagney, she yanked my shirt up in front of the whole class to show off the rapidly spreading pox. Anyway, the doctor had to look it up in a reference book. Nobody had ever heard of it.

In the fourth grade I got a funny rash that popped up while visiting the tanning booth. The doctor said it was Scarletina. (Nota bene – Later in life I would have three suspicious looking birthmarks cut out of my flesh.)

As a young adult I saw a dermatologist about my ridiculously sensitive skin. After a quick scrape with the broken edge of a tongue depressor, he diagnosed me with dermagraphism.

Then there was that wart on my shin.

And that rash that grew up my arm like a vine.

These are just some of the more notable skin-related ills I’ve seen. I share these to establish a timeline and context. Of course there have been so many more and in such a wide variety that I couldn’t list them if I wanted to.

Fast forward to today. At 12:45 I sat in the waiting room of my GP’s office. It was pleasantly quiet and dim until 13:00 when everybody came back from lunch. Weight, check. Temperature, check. Blood pressure, check. Medications, check. 

“No, since end of October or beginning of November of this year…No, this past year...2019…Is there any way that you can take a sample?...Can you test it?...It’s just that this behaves like a virus…Can you tell if you look at it under a microscope?...No?...Ok.”

Bollocks. 

I got my hopes up.

I am all too accustomed to finding some aberration that just appears out of nowhere on my body. I try not to get worked up if it it doesn’t go away quickly enough to be dismissed. I decide in advance that it’s a manifestation of my anxiety and not a legitimate concern. Experience teaches that anything too serious would be out of control within the first 36 hours. I might complain about it out loud to someone in conversation if it’s particularly bothersome or if it’s been hanging around a while. If it’s persistent I will go online and try to research it. I also like to try mixing up homemade remedies if I can. Heat or ice, etc. If that doesn’t get me anywhere, I’ll research some more and start questioning people I know who might have some ideas. I am accustomed to all of this nonsense. But actually making an appointment and talking directly to a medical doctor about it? Now that is not something that I do very often.