For those who aren’t down with reveling in someone’s complaining about a skin condition, feel free to either hit the “Next Blog” button or just type Storm Large into Google to see this Rockstar: Supernova contestant’s prior “work.”
Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let’s get on with it.
Until one year ago this past May, I didn’t know how to spell psoriasis or even what it was. Hell, I’m not reallly sure that I know what it is today. I only know that I have it.
Actually, I knew a guy growing up whose father had it (I believe). I know he always had medicine on his arms from his elbows to his wrists and if I am recalling correctly, it was quite similar to what I am enjoying today.
First of all, Psoriasis is NOT contageous. I know that folks don’t know / believe that (since when they see it, most don’t know what it is), and I know that when people see what it looks like on the hands and / or elbows of someone that they don’t know, they look long and hard before ultimately taking a wide berth.
This disease is one of the more mysterious chronic, non-lethal diseases that there are. No one really knows where it comes from, whether it’s genetic or not or what causes it, and there is no cure for it.
According to webmd, psoriasis is:
“Psoriasis is a chronic skin condition that causes skin cells to grow too quickly, resulting in thick, white, silvery, or red patches of skin. The patches range in size from small to large and typically occur on the knees, elbows, scalp, hands, feet, or lower back. Psoriasis is most common in adults, although children and teens may be affected.
Normally, skin cells mature gradually and are shed about every 28 days. New skin cells replace outer layers of the skin surface that are shed or sloughed off during normal daily activity. In psoriasis, skin cells do not mature but instead move rapidly up to the surface of the skin over 3 to 6 days and build up, forming the characteristic patches (plaques).:
What this means in layman’s terms (without the benefit of a digital camera while I am writing this) is that I have what looks like moderate to severe poison ivy on my wrists, elbows and the bottom of my forearms. It’s also on the tops of my toes and my knees to some extent, but not like my fingers and forearms. There is also some peeling and flaking on either side of my nose and in my eyebrows.
Oh, and the palms of my hands look like they are either healing from severe burns or a serious sunburn, complete with peeling after the blistering has subsided.
The other bad part is that my hands are so dry that, even in the summer, the peel, crack, split and even bleed. The webbed portions between my fingers hurts second only to the deep tears in the center of my palms. If I were my friend Robert, I could say that I was the second coming of Christ and that the palm injuries were merely healing from the crucifiction, but I don’t think that would fly with most folks.
I had been dealing with what I thought was just regular old dandruff since college, and it’s been irregular in its frequency and severity over the years. At least until recently.
About 18 months ago, folks I knew pretty well (including friends and family) started asking me about my elbows and suggesting things like loofas and special steroid creams and such. Finally, my SIL referred me to a dermatologist who looked at me for about .00001 seconds before saying:
“You have psoriasis. There is no cure, and anything we treat it with will eventually be rendered useless due to the fact that the psoriasis morphs and becomes resistent to treatments. We will continually rotate treatments for the rest of your life, up to and including daily injections that you will have to give yourself, not unlike those received by a diabetic.”
Wait. Do you mean that at some point, I will have to give myself daily shots for this? Me? The guy that passed out giving blood for his fucking marriage license?
Sweet Christ.
Another fabulous side effect of this disease is this: Psoriatic arthritis. I didn’t even know about this until the last few weeks. I just thought my knees hurt from working out vigorously. But the husband of a friend informed me otherwise. He’s my age, has psoriasis, and deals with the same symptoms, including the arthritis.
From webmed again:
“Psoriatic arthritis is a form of arthritis that sometimes develops in people who have a skin condition called psoriasis. It causes swelling and pain in joints—most often in the fingers and toes—in an irregular pattern that may be different on opposite sides of the body.
Treatment for psoriatic arthritis includes pain medication, patient education, and physical and occupational therapy. Severe cases may require more powerful medication called disease-modifying antirheumatic drugs (DMARDs) or steroid injections.”
So, in addition to treating the psoriasis with shots, I could end up having to get steroid injections? You know….steroids. The things that make people angry, sleepless, bald, and make their dicks small?
Perfect.
Is there anything else?
Oh yeah. It can be made worse by stress (stressed? Me?), drinking alcohol (don’t even say it), and beta-blockers, which are common treatment tools for cardiac patients.
Wow. Why not say that folks that like NASCAR and eating bbq from the Big Green Egg will get it too?
So there it is, folks. When you see me, that’s what’s on my hands and elbows and the backs of my hands and knuckles. Know that I not only hate it, but I am more than a little self-conscious about it.
“So what’s the upside?” you might ask.
First, salt water and sunlight are great for it. I asked if I could be medically required to move to Hilton Head, but he said no. I have been told that I need to hit the tanning bed a couple three times a week, which while a tick gay-sounding, probably wouldn’t be terrible.
The other upside? That’s easy. In discussing the “condition” with my cardiologist yesterday, I came to the quick realization that it was better to be alive and heart-healthy with psoriasis than to be dead, leaving a widow and two fatherless children and NOT having psoriasis.
My pity party is over folks. Look all you want. I couldn’t care less. Hell, wince if you must. But know that I am thrilled to be alive to see you recoil at my condition.
What say you?