Health Boards
Hello,
I don’t normally talk about my condition. Well, not unless it is to a doctor. Actually, I lie, I have not talked to a doctor in six years. When I used to talk to them I used the minimum number of words to describe my condition and then spent the rest of the time staring at them foolishly and trying to keep my anxiety under control. Come to think of it, I did the exact same thing with dentists, pharmacists, grocery store owners and random tourists asking for directions.
Two days ago, I caught a cold and now my whole body feels so tight I wish I were a snake so that I could shed this skin and get some relief. But, since I couldn’t do that and since I’m typing this at four in the morning, my best next course of action was to do what I’ve done for years, go to uncle Google and see if there are any new treatments and tricks to ease this discomfort. Through a circuitous route of adverts, websites requiring registration before you read them and clinical journals, Uncle G eventually sent me here.
I always knew I wasn’t alone in this. I read about others suffering from the same thing and sometimes, on a crowded train or bus, spotted one or two with very clear signs. Sadly, they didn’t return my “kindred spirit” looks and probably thought me very creepy. Now I find there is a whole forum of people with the same condition and, even if this is my last ever post on here, know that I could read their postings and occasionally mutter to myself “that’s exactly how it is. The irritating unreachable spot under the shoulder blade, right?”
In fact, it’s not only the shoulder blade. It’s in the bits that clothes can hide and the bits it can’t. I have a black face but the constant use of those strong creams in the early days have made me look like one of Theresa May’s favourite leopard skin heels (all pigmented and multi-coloured). The bits on my arms and legs are as if I walked into a tattoo parlour and demanded they paint bits of poppadum all over me. I could swear I have one in the shape of a heart.
Beards are trendy these days. I would love to grow one and know that mine would be great. I can actually grow a full beard if I wanted to, there are no missing bits of dry islands on my face (well other than the plaque). But, like buying a Ferrari when you’re banned from driving, growing a beard that you can’t stroke is pointless.
I once was having lunch with two female friends. One of them started praising my hands and the other laughed. Then both took a hand each and went on and on about how great and smooth and glowing my hands were, how shiny my nails were and how beautiful my skin was. I asked them to volunteer any positive comments on the rest of me but they were only interested and fascinated with my hands. When the condition started and found its way to my (allegedly) lovely nails, I kept my hands in my pockets whenever I met those ladies again.
I used to have hair. I am not sure if I lost it naturally or because of the condition. Incidentally, I refer to it as the “condition” because I don’t really like its name. I once had an idea that the reason all the medications were never a full cure was because psoriasis was never a full word. That ‘P’ gives me the same itch as the plaque itself.
Anyway, I’m forty-five, a father of four and had this condition for over 20 years. I apologise if I bored you with my whinging but I really have a cold and my skin really feels tight and I wanted to vent to (what I hope are) like-minded people.
p.s
I know I should probably go see a doctor and I will. I probably should also go to sleep but will try to keep an eye on the site on a daily basis. Glad to be a member of you’ll have me.
I don’t normally talk about my condition. Well, not unless it is to a doctor. Actually, I lie, I have not talked to a doctor in six years. When I used to talk to them I used the minimum number of words to describe my condition and then spent the rest of the time staring at them foolishly and trying to keep my anxiety under control. Come to think of it, I did the exact same thing with dentists, pharmacists, grocery store owners and random tourists asking for directions.
Two days ago, I caught a cold and now my whole body feels so tight I wish I were a snake so that I could shed this skin and get some relief. But, since I couldn’t do that and since I’m typing this at four in the morning, my best next course of action was to do what I’ve done for years, go to uncle Google and see if there are any new treatments and tricks to ease this discomfort. Through a circuitous route of adverts, websites requiring registration before you read them and clinical journals, Uncle G eventually sent me here.
I always knew I wasn’t alone in this. I read about others suffering from the same thing and sometimes, on a crowded train or bus, spotted one or two with very clear signs. Sadly, they didn’t return my “kindred spirit” looks and probably thought me very creepy. Now I find there is a whole forum of people with the same condition and, even if this is my last ever post on here, know that I could read their postings and occasionally mutter to myself “that’s exactly how it is. The irritating unreachable spot under the shoulder blade, right?”
In fact, it’s not only the shoulder blade. It’s in the bits that clothes can hide and the bits it can’t. I have a black face but the constant use of those strong creams in the early days have made me look like one of Theresa May’s favourite leopard skin heels (all pigmented and multi-coloured). The bits on my arms and legs are as if I walked into a tattoo parlour and demanded they paint bits of poppadum all over me. I could swear I have one in the shape of a heart.
Beards are trendy these days. I would love to grow one and know that mine would be great. I can actually grow a full beard if I wanted to, there are no missing bits of dry islands on my face (well other than the plaque). But, like buying a Ferrari when you’re banned from driving, growing a beard that you can’t stroke is pointless.
I once was having lunch with two female friends. One of them started praising my hands and the other laughed. Then both took a hand each and went on and on about how great and smooth and glowing my hands were, how shiny my nails were and how beautiful my skin was. I asked them to volunteer any positive comments on the rest of me but they were only interested and fascinated with my hands. When the condition started and found its way to my (allegedly) lovely nails, I kept my hands in my pockets whenever I met those ladies again.
I used to have hair. I am not sure if I lost it naturally or because of the condition. Incidentally, I refer to it as the “condition” because I don’t really like its name. I once had an idea that the reason all the medications were never a full cure was because psoriasis was never a full word. That ‘P’ gives me the same itch as the plaque itself.
Anyway, I’m forty-five, a father of four and had this condition for over 20 years. I apologise if I bored you with my whinging but I really have a cold and my skin really feels tight and I wanted to vent to (what I hope are) like-minded people.
p.s
I know I should probably go see a doctor and I will. I probably should also go to sleep but will try to keep an eye on the site on a daily basis. Glad to be a member of you’ll have me.
