A week wouldn’t be my week if I was itching or ensconced in a doctor’s office, reciting my medical history as if it were an epic poem. Right now, as I type this, I’m reacting to something from the huge, uncomfortable patch on my back, which I have to wear for another day before I deliver it to my allergist for further testing and diagnosis. I’m also recovering from a skin biopsy because when I’m in an office and I’m told that I can be allergic to anything from my Jawbone to my moisturizer, I start to feel as if I’m Julianne Moore in Safe. Everything is the culprit. The world is apocalyptic and unsafe.
The good news is that I’m not allergic (although I may have sensitivities) to any one food. Food isn’t the cause of this, however, I’m prone to think that my recent gluten reaction and leaky gut have opened the floodgates to allow the wrong ones in. I have contact dermatitis, which means by skin is reacting to something with which it’s come into contact. The reaction could be recent or cumulative (built up over time), but when my allergist saw my skin yesterday and compared it to the hives when I had my gluten reaction, she told me that this, my skin right now (forearms and calves, specifically), is worse.
At least I have a topical steroid that helps with the itch (hmm, not really, considering I’m reacting right now to something).
The good news is that I don’t have to eliminate yet another food from my diet, and hopefully I’ll get my results before I leave for Spain.
My doctor assures me that this will be over soon, that this itch will go away, and that everything will get better. My god, I hope so. And yes, I realize that I don’t have a major disease and this isn’t cancer, but that knowledge doesn’t diminish this experience.