Bumpy Road

As I've been copying my medical records for the IVF doctor I came across a fairly large stack of old dermatology statements. I should preface this story by saying if there is a rare virus, rash, or skin ailment that can be caught by human flesh my flesh will catch it. I should also preface this story by saying all my life I have somewhat hated my skin (despite David Oreck telling me to my face I have a "Peaches & Cream" complexion).

When I was 32 and in Denver for a MNF Broncos game pityriasis rosea appeared. It covered my entire body except for my face. It's common in kids aged 6 to 12 and nearly unheard of after age 30. When the doc looked at my back and saw the "marker" he went and got all of the nurses and residents and secretaries so that EVERYONE could see the "most defined Christmas tree striations he had ever seen." That made me feel awesome. To have the most defined case of a high contrast viral rash that has no cure and has to run its course before it vanishes in 6-8 weeks.

Don't forget my bouts of molluscum contagiosum, folliculitis, the two M&M-sized bumps cut out of my scalp (Greg called them my antennas) which ended up being sebaceous cysts, the week my feet were entirely covered in eczema while in the Dominican Republic on vacation (I thought it was a sand rash), the volcano-sized bites that oozed pus bestowed from a hotel hot tub that was a little short on chlorine (to quote the doc: "You were just stewing in a vat of living bacteria that clung to your suit and bit you up") and endless years of on-again-off-again adult acne. In summary, my skin is writing its first tell-all book destined to become a New York Times' bestseller.

Nothing was worse than 2008.

I went in for a routine check-up, probably for acne or wondering why my pores were enlarging or to see if any cream really stops crow's feet:

Doctor: Are we here to burn those warts off your face?

Me: Excuse me? I have no warts.

Doctor: Yes, you do. See here? All along your jaw. There's about 9 of them.

Me: Those are just shiny freckles. They are flat.

Doctor: They are flat warts. Let me burn them off real quick with some nitrogen. They'll scab and then the scabs will fall off and you'll be done with them.

Me: Okay.

It sounded great. They scabbed and the scabs fell off. Then they came back, but bumpy. At first they came back in their original spots. Then they started to spread. They spread from my jaw all the way across my face to the opposite side of my forehead. I essentially had a mask of warts similar in shape to the Phantom of the Opera's mask. Every day I woke up and raced to the mirror to see if it was all a bad dream but they had spread further and were even growing on top of each other. My face was seriously textured. One night I tried to count them and when I passed 300 I ran into my closet and bawled in the dark. I reminded myself of the weasel in Arnold Lobel's Mouse Soup, a book I still own that was purchased via kindergarten Scholastic book orders. At this point I was completely freaked out and went back to the doc.

Doctor: What am I seeing you for?

Me, in tears: Um, this obtrusive festival of warts covering my entire face except for my eyeballs. Why did this happen? This isn't "being done with them."

Doctor: Hmm. Sometimes this happens. Your body senses the warts are gone so it fights back with a vengeance and makes more warts. I've never seen a case this bad. (Story of my life! If I had a nickel...)

Me: I don't recall you warning me this was a possibility.

Doctor: Really? Well, I should have. It's rare. Nothing to do except hope your body decides to fight off the virus.

Me: Do I still have to pay for this appointment?

Nothing to do. He did send me home with a Rx for a topical gel used to treat STDs that was guaranteed to turn my face into raw hamburger. I threw that piece of paper away. I was not going to treat myself for an STD. Oh, just remembering this is so awful. It was the worst. RE made me a sweet card and left it on my pillow:

I had become a hermit in the two weeks this happened. I went nowhere except church. I was terrified to be seen. Greg still kissed me goodnight and said he thought I was beautiful and even let me lean my face on his chest at night. He's not scared of anything.

I will never forget sitting in church, on the left edge of the left aisle with my hair swooped over my warts the best it could, looking to the left and wanting to die. Hating myself. Feeling so ugly. The lady giving the Sunday School lesson was teaching on adversity. I listened through the hating. I softened. I stepped back and assessed the situation. Was my skin really going to shut me down? Halt my love of interacting with people? Murder my joie de vivre? Return the gifts I have to offer? No.

I prayed a pretty sincere final prayer to the Lord and then got over it. In my prayer I asked that if He was indifferent to my skin healing to please let it go back to the old skin, but if I needed the warts to become who I needed to be to let me accept them in winning fashion. I also started taking L-Methionine, an amino acid that aids in skin cell renewal. And I upped my dosage of leafy greens.

Time passed. One morning they seemed smaller. The next morning they seemed flatter. And one morning they were gone and my skin was how it used to be. The skin that had never pleased me was now the skin I will always be thankful for. The Wart Experience taught me two important life lessons:

1) Be thankful for what you currently have because you have no idea how things will better or worsen. I found a scripture for this one in the Bible. It’s Philippians 4:11:

...for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.

2) Worldly, skin deep beauty is fickle. You can race time and gravity, but they will win. Inner beauty can't fade unless you let it.

*Illustration of weasel from Mouse Soup by Arnold Lobel.