Tag Archives: rash

My Hands Are Plastic

For those readers who simply can’t wait until I update My Health Project page, here’s a photo of my new plastic hand. It’s fake, not actually real.

Just kidding. It’s real. But it might as well be fake because my hands haven’t looked this good since I was about twenty-five. I bow down to the almighty steroid and cortisone creams, for which I am truly grateful.

Those little black Frankenstein stitches are from the biopsies. I should get the results next Friday. Until then, I’ll see if my new plastic hands can cook any better than my old hands.

Hand as of March 4 2008

My new plastic hand

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Control Issues

I’m making Sally Schneider’s incredible sour cream panna cotta tonight for a work function tomorrow. I can’t eat it, but I do know it’s incredible because I made it for our Halloween party last year and dressed it up in plastic horns and raspberry sauce–before I found out I was allergic to cow dairy. When I figure out how to make this recipe with goat milk, I’ll be one happy chick.

So the prednisone is wearing off. I know because this morning my hands started itching. By the afternoon, they were swelling and I was rubbing ice on them to keep from scratching them. Here’s something you’re going to hear often on this blog: I’M SICK OF IT!

Obviously, it’s frustrating and tiring. Obviously, I’m at my wits’ end. I’m doing everything in my power to control my body and it’s clearly not cooperating. I forced myself to go swimming tonight just because I wanted to do something normal, something routine and regular from my daily life. As I write, my hands are still irritated and I can only hope they improve overnight.

Being sick, for me, is about relinquishing control. You have this body, right? And you think, hey, if I eat right, exercise, and blah blah blah, I’ll be fine, right? No. Wrong. Very wrong. The truth is anything can happen and it can happen to you. Because…well, why not you?

The truth is that no matter how much I read about itching, eczema, food allergies, lupus, candida, and multiple sclerosis, no matter how much I understand it all, that won’t prevent me actually having any or all of these things. As much as I want to figure out what’s causing it and then fix it, there’s no guarantee that’s ever going to happen. That’s hard to digest.

As I was rinsing off from the pool tonight (and don’t worry, my pool is cleaned with saline, not chlorine), I was talking once again to my rash. It went something like this:

You are just not going to win this one. I am one of the most stubborn people I know and I come from a long, distinguished line of stubborn, persevering people. You can eat and eat and eat my skin, but until you kill me, I am not giving up.

Let’s hope my rash has ears.

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My Souffle Also Rises

I’m back! I’m typing! I’ve never been so happy to feel a keyboard beneath my fingertips.

I have no idea what my post title is about. I think I’m still loopy from the prednisone shot.

So here’s the story, in a nutshell: as regular readers know, I ate about 73.5 metric tons, give or take, of garlic on Valentine’s Day. Two days later, my archenemy descended on my hands. It got worse and worse over the course of a week and a half until I had golden pus, a very old demon of mine, pulsing from deep wounds around my knuckles. Enter prednisone shot. That was Friday morning. I type here today as a new woman, a humbled woman, grateful for the nuclear bombs of Western medicine.

I have learned some valuable lessons from this experience:

  1. I am actually allergic to garlic, despite my ongoing denial.
  2. Thou shalt not eat vast amounts of garlic ever again.
  3. It’s really hard to sit on the couch reading for three days straight, not moving your hands.
  4. It’s actually not fun when your partner has to do all the shopping, cleaning, and cooking while you sit around on your growing behind.
  5. There’s a time to fight the war and a time to drop the bomb. So it goes.

I haven’t done much cooking in the past several days. I’ve been too busy taking drugs and reading novels. As soon as I resurface, I’ll be sure to write about food again. Until then…

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The Rash Speaks

Me: Why do you have to make a fool of me for saying that my garlic bomb passed without a problem?

Rash: Get a clue. I’m the one who asks questions around here.

Me: Are you trying to torture me?

Rash: You have nice hands. They make a great host. And they’re tasty.

Me: What is it that you want from me?

Rash: Well, I find myself on the verge of answering one of your idiotic questions…how ’bout those Mets? You do have delicious hands, by the way.

Me: Had delicious hands.

Rash: Semantics.

Me: It seems like your deadly cycle has sped up lately. It used to take 48 hours for the rash-burn to manifest after I ate something, now it takes 24 hours. Would you say that’s true?

Rash: [Munch, munch.] Mmm! These hands taste good. God, I love flesh!

Me: Does this mean that the healing cycle will also speed up?

Rash: [Munch, munch.] Damn, girl! You got anymore of this stuff? Where you hidin’ it?!

Me: You’ve eaten almost all of it, you greedy bastard.

Rash: Hey, now. No need to get all hissy ’bout it.

Me: Why do you have an Okie accent?

Rash: Why don’t YOU just leave me alone?

Me: You’re the one who’s taken up residence in my body, remember?

Rash: You’re taking a long time to kill, witch. You got some kind of super genes.

Me: I’ll be sure to thank my parents for that.

Rash: Well, I’d love to continue our little chat [munch, munch], but I got some eating to do. Bye now!

Hand with Burn-Rash


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