Sunday, May 1, 2016

Not For The Squeamish: Day One

 A   s you know, I have psoriasis. I've had it since age 25.

It's an auto-immune disorder—the top layer of skin cells multiply in days instead of weeks, so they're immature and not complete—what results is scaling and peeling to various degrees.

Thankfully, my case is mild compared to some—this can get really, really horrific if it covers any more than 5% of your body, as you can imagine.

For me, it's always been my right hand, and very suspiciously, exactly in a pattern that matches the grip I used to play racquetball for many years. It's just too close to be a coincidence—and it is nowhere on my left hand.

In the past couple of years it's begun to attack my face. Again, not seriously but annoying nonetheless.

I believe that possibly by changing my gut biota this accursed condition will ameliorate!

Anyway, this is where it was at on this day: Day One.

My right hand, freshly peeled. My thumb is in a temporary two-day remission, but there are four spots on it just like these and they will come roaring back in a couple of days, as these ones begin to heal again under bandaids. Pretty nasty, huh? There are other spots on this hand which I couldn't show—this camera is just too difficult to operate with the left hand.

Now can you see why, after I put bandaids all over my hand, that I wouldn't want to get my hand wet—say, by washing dishes?
As usual, now that I want to show it, the psoriasis on my face has temporarily retreated, thanks to my aggressive occlusive taping with Fluocinonide and Tacrolimus. But you can see the spots—when they flare they turn into ugly scaling red horrors, a bit like my fingers. Especially irksome is the corners of my eyes—they get horrific and actually start to invade the orbit itself. Scary!

No comments:

Post a Comment