Four days after the Christmas Eve Meltdown of 2011 and the ensuing immuno-shutdown sequence, my skin's clear and silky smooth, save a few craters I dug during the onslaught.
After eating a dish with coconut and nothing else that would be a likely allergen, I got painfully bloated. And as the old saying goes, as the digestive tract goes, so goes the skin. Yea, no one says that. But I used to use coconut oil before I tried Vaseline, and it was hive city. And where there's one nut allergy, there's bound to be others. And nuts seem to be in every other moisturizer.
You know, as much as I'm not fond of petroleum-based products, can I give a shout out to Vaseline? Greasy and inconvenient as it is, it's the only moisturizer that has been non-reactive enough to soothe my skin. Apparently it's been a Hollywood anti-aging beauty secret for years -- some women apply it every night to seal in moisture. Only reason I stumbled upon it was because I noticed it was the common ingredient in my steroidal ointment, Blistex medicated lip balm, and Neosporin, three things that soothed my skin more than any lotion, especially ones with lanolin and coconut oil.
So I'm covered in it now, since it's easier to keep skin at a baseline of health with moisturizer once it's healed than it is to bring it back from the brink. But I'm fighting the phantom psychosomatic itches and waiting for the impending flare-up. I haven't scratched in days. Haven't thought about it.
I saw a Vaseline ad the other day that totally had my number. It said something like "the beauty of healthy skin is not having to think about it at all." I know I'm easy, but I nearly broke down. When it's working, you forget it's there. Health is a privilege. Like Ani's "headache that you don't know that you don't have." When it's not working, sometimes it's all you can think about.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Click it, or -- aw, fuck it.
So much for mind over matter.
Inspired by this guy's skeptical quest for an alternative eczema treatmente (spoiler alert: antibiotics were what finally did the trick), today I tried the clicker technique.
Here's how it works: every time you scratch, tally it using a clicker that's just enough of a pain in the ass to use that you become annoyingly aware of previously unconscious blissful scratch attacks. The guy from The Guardian saw immediate results: he fought the itch addiction and gave his skin time to heal itself.
I started strong and after sugary booze and dinner with family (and maybe a bad egg or two at breakfast?) wound up in a Christmas eve tailspin, raking and gouging, lashing out at my concerned partner and crying into a salty oatmeal bath. Turns out stinging is worse than itching, so I broke down and busted out that hated tub of steroidal ointment and slathered way too much of it over most of my body.
Must be building up more of a tolerance, since it's not working -- still itches. Burns too. The anticipation of Christmas morning used to be the thing that kept me up tonight. I'm beat, but I'll be lucky if I can get any winks.
Inspired by this guy's skeptical quest for an alternative eczema treatmente (spoiler alert: antibiotics were what finally did the trick), today I tried the clicker technique.
Here's how it works: every time you scratch, tally it using a clicker that's just enough of a pain in the ass to use that you become annoyingly aware of previously unconscious blissful scratch attacks. The guy from The Guardian saw immediate results: he fought the itch addiction and gave his skin time to heal itself.
I started strong and after sugary booze and dinner with family (and maybe a bad egg or two at breakfast?) wound up in a Christmas eve tailspin, raking and gouging, lashing out at my concerned partner and crying into a salty oatmeal bath. Turns out stinging is worse than itching, so I broke down and busted out that hated tub of steroidal ointment and slathered way too much of it over most of my body.
Must be building up more of a tolerance, since it's not working -- still itches. Burns too. The anticipation of Christmas morning used to be the thing that kept me up tonight. I'm beat, but I'll be lucky if I can get any winks.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse
It’s started spreading to my legs.
Pimply clusters, swarms of dots rising like a rashy bacterial bloom at the backs of my knees, my thighs – like that time I got poison oak after drunkenly stumbling into a bush at Bass Lake.
So there goes my latest hope in a battery of failed treatments: a daily regimen of kombucha with chia seeds that replaced priobiotics and omegas in one slippery, vinegary fell swoop.
The diagnostics are constant. Whip out the whiteboard, Dr. House. I’ve charted the severity of my flare-ups against stress level, sleep, point in my cycle, topical treatments, behaviors like exercise, and probably most importantly, food. This blog is just my latest attempt at tracking and running wholly unscientific diagnostics.
So what’d I do differently that made it calm down before it flared up? Less dairy? Better sleep? A decline in stress after that big meeting? Oh and the plane ride where I downed a box of cookies and a tube of Pringles couldn't have helped. I wore a wool sweater a couple days ago that made my neck and ears get hot and hivey. Took it off, and voila – no hives. Could it be as simple as the fabrics that I come in contact with this time of year? No polyester fleece or wool in the summer. Or if there is – this is San Francisco, after all – then at least I'm partly inoculated by the sun.
I’ve flip-flopped the hygiene routine I’d kept for 20 years – shower every morning before school/work. Now it’s a bath, a couple times a week, with sponge baths in between to keep water exposure and overdrying from evaporation to a minimum. No soap, or if I do it’s straight a olive oil bar, and I indulge in warm to hot water – despite how lobstery I get – and a loofa or wash cloth scrub to exfoliate that excess skin. I tried jojoba oil – rumored to be the closest to the skin’s natural oil – but I must be allergic to the nut it’s derived from. Nuts have always been suspect.
Before bed, there’s the obligatory Vaseline slick with a long-sleeved cotton shirt over it. A handful of formerly non-pajama shirts have been relegated to the grease-stained legion of bed protectors. Any exposed skin is in danger of trapping dust, which leads to hives, so morning applications are out, even if stains weren't an issue. Scarves are a known culprit but I can’t shake ‘em for fashion’s sake.
I've gone back to booze, coffee and dairy after a short hiatus, all known causes of inflammation. But here’s the thing – I eat the same shit during the summer, and my skin’s worlds better. And on vacation in tropical climates? Smooth sailing. All that sun and salt water does wonders, not to mention a lack of stress. But if it’s seasonal, that rules out stress. Stress is evergreen. Could it be purely environmental? Something about central heating rubs me the wrong way? Dusty winter clothing? Mold and mildew blooms in the city?
The speculation is the part that's so taxing, like if I could just stumble upon the right formula, I could move on. But it’s a process of elimination given a formula with infinite variables. And just when I think I’m onto something…it spreads.
At a certain point I give in. I take the drugs that are gradually losing their potency. Like when I'm looking in the mirror at the damage I did after scratching incessantly, unconsciously for 6 1/2 hours on a plane, without the energy or will power to stop. I go rifling through my drawers for that bottle of pills I'd sworn I'd never use. Or I consider the cortisone shot my coworker said kept hers away for months. And I wake up better, with more hope of warding it off next time.
At a certain point, when you weigh the side effects against the helplessness and agony of not being able to make it stop no matter what alternative treatments you try, the stress seems like a worse fate.
So right now, as I stop typing every few sentences to itch, there's the unsettling solace of knowing this miracle drug that likely cause long-term damage will give me short-term relief tonight and hopefully through the holiday weekend. And that sadly seems worth it.
Pimply clusters, swarms of dots rising like a rashy bacterial bloom at the backs of my knees, my thighs – like that time I got poison oak after drunkenly stumbling into a bush at Bass Lake.
So there goes my latest hope in a battery of failed treatments: a daily regimen of kombucha with chia seeds that replaced priobiotics and omegas in one slippery, vinegary fell swoop.
The diagnostics are constant. Whip out the whiteboard, Dr. House. I’ve charted the severity of my flare-ups against stress level, sleep, point in my cycle, topical treatments, behaviors like exercise, and probably most importantly, food. This blog is just my latest attempt at tracking and running wholly unscientific diagnostics.
So what’d I do differently that made it calm down before it flared up? Less dairy? Better sleep? A decline in stress after that big meeting? Oh and the plane ride where I downed a box of cookies and a tube of Pringles couldn't have helped. I wore a wool sweater a couple days ago that made my neck and ears get hot and hivey. Took it off, and voila – no hives. Could it be as simple as the fabrics that I come in contact with this time of year? No polyester fleece or wool in the summer. Or if there is – this is San Francisco, after all – then at least I'm partly inoculated by the sun.
I’ve flip-flopped the hygiene routine I’d kept for 20 years – shower every morning before school/work. Now it’s a bath, a couple times a week, with sponge baths in between to keep water exposure and overdrying from evaporation to a minimum. No soap, or if I do it’s straight a olive oil bar, and I indulge in warm to hot water – despite how lobstery I get – and a loofa or wash cloth scrub to exfoliate that excess skin. I tried jojoba oil – rumored to be the closest to the skin’s natural oil – but I must be allergic to the nut it’s derived from. Nuts have always been suspect.
Before bed, there’s the obligatory Vaseline slick with a long-sleeved cotton shirt over it. A handful of formerly non-pajama shirts have been relegated to the grease-stained legion of bed protectors. Any exposed skin is in danger of trapping dust, which leads to hives, so morning applications are out, even if stains weren't an issue. Scarves are a known culprit but I can’t shake ‘em for fashion’s sake.
I've gone back to booze, coffee and dairy after a short hiatus, all known causes of inflammation. But here’s the thing – I eat the same shit during the summer, and my skin’s worlds better. And on vacation in tropical climates? Smooth sailing. All that sun and salt water does wonders, not to mention a lack of stress. But if it’s seasonal, that rules out stress. Stress is evergreen. Could it be purely environmental? Something about central heating rubs me the wrong way? Dusty winter clothing? Mold and mildew blooms in the city?
The speculation is the part that's so taxing, like if I could just stumble upon the right formula, I could move on. But it’s a process of elimination given a formula with infinite variables. And just when I think I’m onto something…it spreads.
At a certain point I give in. I take the drugs that are gradually losing their potency. Like when I'm looking in the mirror at the damage I did after scratching incessantly, unconsciously for 6 1/2 hours on a plane, without the energy or will power to stop. I go rifling through my drawers for that bottle of pills I'd sworn I'd never use. Or I consider the cortisone shot my coworker said kept hers away for months. And I wake up better, with more hope of warding it off next time.
At a certain point, when you weigh the side effects against the helplessness and agony of not being able to make it stop no matter what alternative treatments you try, the stress seems like a worse fate.
So right now, as I stop typing every few sentences to itch, there's the unsettling solace of knowing this miracle drug that likely cause long-term damage will give me short-term relief tonight and hopefully through the holiday weekend. And that sadly seems worth it.
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