rash judgment: the interweb weighs in

I always feel the need to throw out some Jessica Clark Feelings Update Disclaimers: I am going to poke a little fun at all my beloved facebook, twitter, text and email diagnosticians today. Roll with it. Look at the MOG, I poke fun at him on a daily basis and he almost always laughs at it.

I have been in this cycle of suffering for weeks now. It’s a profoundly first-world cycle, where I have some optional surgery like having a diseased tooth removed or some such and then all HECK breaks loose and I suffer, I suffer greatly.

So this week, or maybe it was last week, it all blurs together in a vague bloody mind haze, I broke out in a tiny rash on my inner elbow. Now, the word “rash” is kind of gross, and I almost feel like I am turning 40 just by talking about rashes on my internet, like what’s next, menopause? Anyway, this rash came up and since I had an identical rash in June, I was like, “Oh jeez” because I remembered it spreading up my arms and on my face and stuff and itching like a house on fire, if houses had nerves and fire was itchy.

Being a reasonable adult woman with the limitless resources of the internet in front of me, I took it to my social mediums. Because, clearly, I am 40. You guys were enormously helpful. I got a range of advice. “Have you rolled in any wildflowers, eaten raw fish, snorted peanut dust? Are you allergic to your family?” they asked. “Get some organic barley flax and apply it to your skin with local honey,” they did not say, but kind of, “What you need to do is wash in bleach, just straight bleach and then blowdry the rash,” they kind of said, “Is your shampoo gluten free?” they asked, and it’s a good question. The diagnoses rolled in, “heat rash, poison ivy, contact allergy, eczema, hives, HERPES.” Now let me take a minute here to say, I know, I know, that herpes is not always, you know, herpes, and it’s a valid suggestion. But anytime somebody says herpes, I get all twitchy and embarrassed like when your mom talks about sex. *Twitch*

Eventually I decided to go to a walk-in clinic since it was getting kind of out of control with this rash taking over my life and making me look sort of reptilian, not to mention it was insanely itchy and it was affecting my “patience meter” with all the small folk. The MOG tried out his prophet skills. “This isn’t a one-visit thing,” he said, “They’re gonna want to send you somewhere else for tests or something.” Despite his annoyingly accurate record, I did not want to go to the ER for a rash, so I went to a clinic and waited and then they took one look at me and sent me to the ER.

photo by Brynn

Look, I’m grateful for once to be the not-sick family at the ER. But it’s kind of awkward when people are walking around with arrows stuck through their spines while I surf the web on my phone and chuckle. “Herpes.” Heeheehee. So after all the actual sick people went through, it was my turn and various medical professionals poked at me with gloves and argued with themselves about what exactly I have and is it infected, leaving me minutes away from toxic blood.

Eventually the real doctor came in and said it is a contact dermatitis and I should figure out what I’m allergic to, which sounds like a great activity for a doctor, but whatever. They gave me a steroid shot and antibiotics, more steroids and steroid cream, and told me to take the week off exercising because I’m not allowed to run or sweat. I figure it’s no problem, though, because by next week I should be totally JACKED from all the steroids and able to lift cars and stuff.  I puked for a while, but I think I’m figuring out that you have to eat a lot of food with antibiotics to avoid pukage. 

This is a long one, but it's been a long week. No clue what I am allergic to, although I am beginning to be concerned about the corner of the sunroom that used to have a leak and recently grew a mushroom... that seems suspect.