O hai! Iz u my dokter?

OK, so. I hate being vulnerable, and feeling ugly or gross makes me feels very vulnerable. But I have this rash, these hives, this swelling, this peeling, burnt looking skin and it's not getting better. In fact, each phase has been uglier and more gross and more painful and humiliating than the last. So, I'll lay the whole thing out here for a few reasons.

• I feel like if I talk about my most vulnerable moments that I will eventually realize I shouldn't feel bad about normal bumps in the road.
• Maybe one of you has gone through this same thing or something similar and can share some advice.
• I'm pissed off about the whole thing and maybe putting it out there will calm me down a bit.

Early in the year I had a rash on my chin and the right side of my face. It looked kind of like ringworm which is not a worm at all but a fungus. It is related to the fungus that causes women's yeast infections, thrush, athlete's foot and the yeast infections babies get with diaper rash sometimes. I used several things to treat it and it went away.
I used the following treatments:

1. Twice a day I applied Skinbiotics Treatment Oil by Derma E which is tea tree oil and oregano oil, both anti-fungal and tea tree oil is also an anti-bacterial.
2. Twice or three times a day I applied Nelson Bach USA Pure & Clear Acne Gel which contains tea tree oil and calming homeopathic ingredients.
3. I continued my acne routine which is the kit by Nature's Gate called Natural Results Acne Treatment containing a cleanser, toner and lotion. I made to sure to remember to do the routine twice a day, every day, even though I'm usually a bit lax with it. The salicylic acid in the kit is anti-microbial and the ingredients are calming, soothing and moisturizing.
4. In between the toner and moisturizer steps above, I wiped a cotton ball with colloidal silver all over my face and let it mostly dry .
5. I drank 10 drops of NutriBiotic Grapefruit Seed Extract in water three times a day.
6. I took 15 drops of BioAllers Allergy Relief Mold Yeast and Dust Allergy Treatment under the tongue every four hours.
7. I drank a ton of water. Way more than my normal amount.
8. And I tried to cut back on sugars as much as I was able.
   

The rash seemed to disappear and I continued the treatment for about two extra weeks just in case there was still something in my system. That brought me to the middle of February.

Then, the weekend before last, I got a small rash on my chest. The area covered was about as big as my hand and the bumps appeared to be hives. They varied in size between two or three times the size of goosebumps to slightly smaller than a pencil eraser. They itched. Not horribly, but as much as you expect hives to itch.

I happened to have a dermatology appointment due to my ongoing hormonal acne (for which I am now trying spironalactone again; I had used it years ago for polycystic ovary syndrome) and showed them the rash. I mentioned I had had an unknown rash on my face a few months before and that this rash itched. They--the resident and attending--diagnosed me with folliculitis even though it doesn't look like folliculitis I've ever seen and this was on an area where clothes don't rub and I--obviously--don't shave. I have been around no new environments, tried no new products of any kind, had no new foods and didn't think I was under any new stress or anything. So I thought, "Fine, I'll take the two doctors' word for it and use the 10% benzoyl peroxide body wash" which is the first line of defense for folliculitis, though you may be familiar with it solely as an acne product. They said use it at bedtime and wash with my normal stuff in the morning.
The first morning I woke up with a slightly red, slightly dry and tight (even though I had moisturized with the advised cream), somewhat larger patch of rash. "Hm, maybe it has to get worse before it gets better?"

The second morning everything was the same as the first, but the rash had spread on my chest, and further up my neck. "Weird."The third morning my skin was "severe sunburn red," dry as hell, flaking, burning and painful. The rash had spread up neck to my face. That night the entire rash and inflamed areas itched like hell. I'm talking crazy making itching. Over the course of this rash I had been taking benadryl to no avail and it still didn't help. Not even the benadryl spray or hydrocortisone gel. I had an event to go to that night so I slapped some makeup on and tried to be brave. It wasn't to bad. [This picture is from Monday but is indicative of Saturday as well.]
Sunday and Monday were pure hell and the call I put into my dermatologist's office Monday wasn't returned until 4:55. I didn't hear the phone ring. I saw the message from the resident who said he needed me to call him back, but he was done at 5:00. By the time I called it was too late. Meanwhile all day and night for those two days, I continued using Aveeno Skin Relief Moisturizing Lotion for cooling and itch relief, Aveeno Anti-Itch Concentrated Lotion for skin protection and itch relief and moisturizing with La Roche Posay Lipikar Body Balm (which, incidently, costs the same for a huge-ass bottle in France as the little tube costs in the US: RIP-OFF!). The glycerin in the lotions always burns a bit at first as my skin is highly sensitive, but, let me tell you, I've never experienced burning this bad. But I powered through those first few minutes because it seems every lotion has parabens, glycerin, fragrance and/or petroleum derived products and they all burn, but glycerin is the only one I don't get a reactive rash after using it.
All the while, since shortly after the rash started, I have been waking up with swollen upper and lower eyelids and lips. The doctors did not seem concerned at all about this. Not that it wasn't related to the rash, but that it is perfectly normal to start waking up with swollen eyelids and lips all of the sudden. The swelling is worse on some days by others and looks not all that bad--but still noticeable--by the time I photograph it.

Friday:
Saturday:
Sunday:
Sunday:
Monday:
Tuesday:

This morning I called the dermatologist's office again and the girl I talked to yesterday (to leave a detailed message for the resident) told me that he said if the benzoyl peroxide was too drying then to use Cetaphil cleanser (which contains SLS, which I normally avoid like the plague as it also badly irritates my skin) instead and to keep moisturizing. "Great," I said to the woman, "And what do I do to get rid of the rash since I can't use the benzoyl peroxide and Cetaphil obviously will not clear up the rash, even if it is folliculitis, which I highly doubt it is at this particular point in time as I did when he diagnosed that." She paused and admitted he did not give any pertinent directions as regarded the rash. She asked me what drug he had given me for the itching. "Um, none? And it is about ten times worse than it was." She paused. Then she took thorough notes on the call and said either she or the resident would call me back today.

It's now 6:26. I think I'm not getting a call back. What do you think?
But just in case this plague is somehow related to the February plague, I've taken it upon myself to add steps four, five and six back in for now.
The phone literally rang as I typed that last sentence and it was the resident, who seemed to remember nothing about my case, insisted it was probably my "acne acting up on [my] chest neck and face." I said, "But it looks nothing like acne, it itches like hell and I've never had more than a half dozen to a dozen spots at one time in my entire life, much less a full face, neck and chest eruption resembling poison ivy at this point in appearance and itchiness even though I've been nowhere near the plant since last spring." Doctor: "Sigh." Me:"..." Doctor: "I guess I can fit you in tomorrow.Can you come around 3?" "No I have another very important appointment then, but it's in Hershey so can I come right afterward?" "Sure, I'll let the nurses know to put you in for about 3:45."
So. At least one more night of this hellish itching and Hellboy redness. Dude better give me something other than a damn wash or I'm kicking him in the balls and telling him that pain he feels is acne.

Comment Gone Post

I just finished leaving a comment on a post by The Bloggess, and I thought that it actually might make a good post in, and of, itself. So here ya go:
I'm so out about my mental illness, people get sick of hearing about it. I do periodic posts about it, and my last was, as someone else had done, in regard to the shooter in Tuscon.
I've suffered from chronic major depression and chronic anxiety disorder for as long I remember, literally. I didn't get help until after my oldest son was born in 1994. They told me I had PPD. I didn't. I was just scared to keep going the way I had been since I now had a human being depending on me.
My worst episodes of depression have happened since I've had my children. The kind of episodes that are so black and so long that I seriously consider suicide, but I never act on it because I cannot do that to my children and I know how to get help now. Even though it is motherfucking, god-damned hard to get that help sometimes. Lack of insurance or time or fucked up policies when we did have insurance all were obstacles at times.
I've been on various drug regimens for almost 17 years, now. Currently I take an SNRI, an anxiolytic and a mood stabilizer. There is some disagreement between various of my doctors whether I have bipolar II or the chronic major depression *and* chronic anxiety combo platter, but they all agreed that either way, adding a mood stabilizer would help and it has.
And you wanna talk stigma? In February of 2008 and again in February 2010 I had a round of ECT. Five treatments each time. Feel free to check the tag "ECT" on my blog for an explanation of the process and dispelling popular myths about it. [Please read from the oldest post at the bottom to the latest at the top for continuity.] It has been a lifesaver for myself and my family.
I decided to do it after a very long depression did not improve. In fact, it got much worse and cycled up more panic attacks as well. I did a lot of research, chose to do the ECT, did it and was amazed that nobody ever mentioned it to me before. I felt wonderful and everyone kept telling how normal I was, which may have been a retroactive insult; I'm not sure...
The second round came after a steady two month decline back into the hole and I decided not to let it get nearly as bad as it had been the last time. I did it again and was glad, again.
Within weeks of the second round, I started one of the worst years (situationally) of my adult life. An old friend abruptly died; my best friend lost her father to cancer; I lost my grandfather (the man who was my father figure growing up) quite unexpectedly to multiple cancers that apparently had been eating him alive for some time; I put my dog to sleep after raising him from an eight-week-old rescue mutt to a 15-year-old family member alongside my sons while I was a stay-at-home mother; I was laid off from the study for which I had been working; I had flairs galore of my autoimmune illness; I've seen my children through some tough times this year; I had some female plumbing issues which I thought would leave me sterile; and I'm sure I'm missing some other things...
But you know what? I was able to survive it and come out with hope in my eyes because I started out from a point of virtual mental health. So ECT has saved my life twice, now. So I talk about it. A lot. It makes people uncomfortable, sometimes, but I think that's okay, because we need to chip away at all of the stigmas of mental illness and it's treatments.
I got this tattoo:to commemorate the ECT the first time. And when people ask me what it means, I tell them--even strangers--all about it.

My PSA for the day

I'm sharing this, not because I agree with the author, but so I can comment that sexual assault has many different forms and it isn't always for sexual pleasure or about committing violence. I, too, have been sexually assaulted, but I understand that sexual assault is about power; power being taken away from the victim and given wholly to the perpetrator.
Yes, the case of the mother who was not informed what was going to be done to her, nor allowing her to consent to it is sexual assault. Her breasts and her labia were touched without her consent and without any warning. It traumatized her. That's it. That's sexual assault. If a person came up to you on the street and cupped your groin and breasts and you called the police, they WOULD arrest the person who committed the act.

I understand some sexual assault is violent or more physically invasive than what happened to this woman, but we spend years telling our children, "If someone touches your 'bathing suit areas' without your permission it is not okay," then we tell adults, "Hey, touch away, no permission needed. It's open season on my vulva/scrotum. Have at it!"

• Voice of Dissent: It's NOT Sexual Assault, so Please Stop Calling it That.
• TSA - Sexual Assault
  

a bit more personal this one is

I am having much better days, much more optimism, much more "get get up get up and go go go," much more day light (literally, as I am both waking much earlier and actually opening all of the blinds and letting in the sunshine, both very new for me), much more ability to plan for the future. But I am still having these brief periods where, in a flash-outta-nowhere, blackness hits and I cry. I guess that this is a kind of "withdrawal" to the process of having been depressed for so long, who knows.
I do know that I am actively searching for a job and want to get out there as soon as possible so I can maintain my good hours and "daylight savings-account balance" to keep from slipping back into bad habits that in turn would lead to the old depression. It's a vicious cycle as depression always is. So far nobody has called for an interview. This amps up my anxiety, which leads to either a) an as-aforementioned crying jag or b) a Klonopin and a glass of red wine. (Sure one or the other would do the trick, but together: bliss! Plus the added bonus of everything being astoundingly amusing! Chill with judgyjudgy--this happens about twice a week at most.How much beer do you drink/pot do you smoke/food do you scarf when you feel bored/blue/angry?)
It's been suggested that I volunteer somewhere, a good deed that would be indeed, however...
Confession time: When released from the booby hatch I had the courage to finally come clean with my husband about a shameful secret: Over the past 4-5 years I've run up an astounding credit card debt. My credit rating is still very good (probably better than yours, even) as my payments are always well above the minimum and on time. But my spending was tootoo much. The accounts are closed; the cards are cut; and only one account has a balance to be paid. But, oh! what a balance! So my entire spending allowance is now going towards payments, along with a tidy sum from the household budget.
I've also had to cut out triple-venti-flavored-lattes ($5.09 each), netflix ($16.99 a month), my monthly donations to Feminist Majority ($10) and WXPN ($20), my stack of 5 gossip mags every week (about $15 a week), the stack of monthly magazines from Borders (approx. $50 a month), my couple or five books a month ($30-$75 a month), couple or six CDs a month ($25-$75 a month), various miscellaneous donations every month or so (anywhere from $10 to $75 a month--luckily, as a couple, we still budget for philanthropy every month, so we are not snubbing the needy altogether, just not going into debt for it as I have been stupidly doing), stacks of various perfumes, makeups, shoes, clothes and personal care products I honestly and truly DO NOT need (untold sums of money), massages occasionally (about $65-$80 every other month or every third month), magazine subscriptions ($?), meals out ($?), and lots and lots of wine ($?).
So yes, I need to get paid. And well. (Well, "well" in terms of someone with little or no skills and a not-so-hot work history.) Then I can pay off my debts and maintain a bit of my previous spendthrift ways.
Nate has been amazingly wonderful about my having created this mess and then hid it from him. At his suggestion--and I agreed--the new counsellor I've scheduled with specializes in generalized anxiety disorder and depression and also addiction problems, so I can figure out why I can't control myself when I have a little plastic card in my hand.
So now you all (all one or two of you who read this, and who already know this anyway) know my secret shame and the anxiety I'm causing myself with it until I have a real, live grown-up job.