YOUNG VOICE
Why Me?
Red, dry and scaly plaques cover my skin like wrapping paper. Creams and ointments have been applied, but none can provide relief for more than a month without the lesions growing back. I wake up early in the morning and stay up late at night making sure each disgusting dot is covered in topical steroids. My mother has been so kind in helping. I do not know where she draws her patience from. If it was me, I would have puked at the site of a gash garden. Not to mention listening to and tolerating my frequent overly dramatic monologues of how fate had been so unkind.
Psoriasis
I am diagnosed with Psoriasis. It is a chronic skin disorder characterized by circumscribed red patches covered by thick, dry silvery adherent scales that are a result of overproduction of epithelial cells. Dermatologists say it is stress-related. Great. How on earth can I relax when I’m taking up a course that engulfs six days a week and allows me to sleep just an average of three hours per day? They also added psoriasis may be due to a disorder or mutation in my chromosomes, in my genes. Perfect. What do I do next? Tear apart my double helixes and rebuild my DNA like Lego blocks? Yes, in simple terms, Psoriasis still has no cure.
I noticed the first manifestations early second year high school: dry scalp, itchy skin, a few dots scattered around my limbs. I was diagnosed with simple seborrheic dermatitis. It means my body produces too much oil and this causes the skin to inflame. My first dermatologist advised me to keep myself from irritants which mean doubling efforts on hygiene and skin care. But, what does a sophomore know? I just learned how to brush my hair properly without breaking the hairbrush in half. Besides, the time to be spent on pampering my skin can be more useful if allotted to studying.
Progression
Soon, as more stressed migrated into my life my simple dermatitis progressed into seborrhiasis, a condition defined to be halfway between dermatitis and the disease’s full blast form, psoriasis. I was prescribed by my second dermatologist with a multitude of medications: tar-smelling concoction to be left on for 30-minutes before washing off, and a duet of shampoos alternately used, moisturizer after every bath and topical anti-inflammatory agents twice a day. I’m running for honors and I can’t compromise two hours of intense review of lecture notes just for hair and skin care.
Then came the worst, just recently my third dermatologist broke in the horrid news. I have Psoriasis. It can’t be cured, it can only be managed. Sounds to me like a great prognosis. Who am I kidding? I wanted to curse heaven. Why me? My parents told me, I should be grateful for my disease is not life threatening rather than being diagnosed with cancer. But, hello? I’m a teenager. I have my self-esteem issues and now that I look like a polka-dot gift wrapper do I still have a face to show?
Harsh Truth
I sometimes cry whenever I let the harsh truth sink in. I depressingly said goodbye to my hopes of wearing short shorts while walking along the shores of Boracay. With the most aching heart, I bid farewell to my dreams of wearing low-back gowns on prom-nights.
Seemed Smaller
But just a week ago, during my clinical duties in the emergency room I was assigned to a patient with a diabetic foot. Her entire right foot was necrotizing, was decaying. The stench of the almost dead foot can force skunks into retreat. It was a sorry site. She accidentally broke a drinking glass while preparing lunch for her family and stepped on the broken pieces causing her foot to bleed. The wounded foot never healed completely until it started to decompose like some organic fertilizer. She was doing a good deed, a selfless deed at that, but why her? As I held my breath while assessing her foot, I once in a while peeked at my own lesions. They seemed tinier. They seemed simpler.
Good Disposition
But my patient had such good disposition, she continues to smile and be pleasant despite her condition. She did not had any inner anger and when asked about how her possible foot amputation would affect, she answered, “Basta mabuhi lang ko kag makakiang-kiang lakat okay lang ah. Anhun ta na bi. Swerte ko gani nga isa lang ka tiil.” (As long as I survive and I could limp-walk, it would be okay. What can we do? I consider myself lucky that only one foot is affected). She may have regretful thoughts the same as mine. She may have thought about losing the chance to wear the cutest set of doll shoes or have a colorful pedicure for both feet. But she did not let these thoughts overrule her. She opted to see what was left than what has been taken away.
Move Past Insecurities
Step by step, I’m trying to learn to move past my insecurities with my skin disease. Like my patient, I’ll start to identify my fortunes rather than my deficits. I chose my academics over my skin and hair pampering and now despite my polka-dot skin, I have several gold medals hanging proudly on our walls. I felt the unconditional love of my family, that despite my disgusting skin disorder and my more than frequent drama sketches, they chose to hug me tightly even if their soft smooth skin touches with my coarse and bumpy one. I felt real and genuine friendship from my friends, that despite seeing my patches everyday in school even if I try to hide them with skin tone stockings, they accepted me for who I am way beyond my lack of confidence.
I was hesitant to write this column article at first. I pondered at how readers may possibly view me differently, at how others may be disgusted at my condition. But I realized two things.
One, all persons have their own share of insecurities and some might be even worse than psoriasis or diabetic foot. I forgot to think about the physically challenged, the mentally deprived and the emotionally suffering. I forgot about Michael J. Fox, who has Parkinson’s disease but continued to make the funniest and thrilling movies. I forgot about Brooke Ellision that despite her quadriplegia (paralysis of the arms, legs and trunk) graduated with A- in Harvard. There are many people in this world willing to trade places with mine. There are many people in this world who views my skin disorder as no lesser than a tickle to their hardcore problems.
Two, even if people will see me differently, who cares? They don’t run my life. Their opinions are only secondary to my primary beliefs. Their praises won’t cure my psoriasis. Their bullying won’t make it worse either. So let them stare. I am currently honing the confidence within myself to someday decide to wear low-back gowns and short shorts. It’s not supposed to be “why me”. It’s supposed to be “it’s me, so better live with it.”
My father said to choose between the two. Spend more time with skin and hair care while sacrificing my study hours just to witness narrower and less red patches while gambling the possibility of a lower score than usual or the other way around. For now, I’ll stay put with my boring routines. I chose the other way around: One fourthof my time will go to pampering and skin care and three-fourth with my academics. This is my decision and I’ll build confidence around it.
Psoriasis.
Diabetic Foot.
Foul breath.
Slow-paced comprehension.
Pimply face.
Overweight.
These are our insecurities.
But these should not be the reasons for us to ask, Why me?
Take a look around other than yourself and your reflection at the mirror.
Some people have worse.
(Send your reactions to the insecure writer at reylangarcia@yahoo.com)
