Feeling anxious at the doctor isn’t uncommon. How many of us have squirmed and shifted while sitting on a paper-covered exam table, anxiously awaiting a scrutinizing gaze and awkward inquiries? On this day at my dermatologist, my anxiety is adding to my uneasiness as I mentally practice how I want a conversation about my current psoriasis treatment to go. It’s not working for me, and I dread asking for a change.
I was originally diagnosed with psoriasis when I was eight years old. The experience was uncomfortable and taught me a hard lesson about the reliability of people’s opinion–even professional ones–when it came to my condition.
At that age, I understood psoriasis to be nothing more than something causing red, scaly patches on my skin and flakes on my scalp. My family always tried to make me feel more comfortable in my splotchy skin and never encouraged me to cover up.
My beside table in my childhood bedroom was littered with ointment tubes and lotions. Occasionally, there would be a bottle of some “miracle cure” that my mother cautiously accepted from this relative or that friend. These “cures” never really did much in the end, but some well-meaning person felt they were worth a try.
I know now that psoriasis is more than just what shows up on my skin. It’s a chronic disease affecting my immune system; the lesions are symptoms of a more complicated issue. But despite what random advice or an ad says, there is no cure for psoriasis right now. It’s the skin you will live in for your entire life, and I’ve spent most of mine figuring out better ways to live with it.
I always tried to explain my condition to other children as simply as it was explained to me. “It’s not contagious,” I’d tell them. “It’s just my body making extra skin.” Most took those explanations well since a few extra spots didn’t seem to matter much on the playground. The children at school were never a problem that way.
No, it was the adults.
The adults who stared. The adults who asked if it was contagious as they unconsciously stepped back. The adult swim teacher who told me it was scabies. The adult hairstylist who hesitated before giving me a cut. And the adult dermatologist who never seemed to listen and became impatient when a younger me asked him questions; the same one I left often in tears.
Those experiences are why I have been self-conscious at times, even on my wedding day. I had to learn patience with other people and myself; I needed a sense of humor to get through the insensitivity.
But that sense of humor doesn’t always stop the anxious feelings or self-doubt. (Even on my wedding day.) Although I have a great dermatologist today, I worry I’m going to ask too many questions and cause that same impatient response I would get years ago.
When my doctor inquires at this visit how treatment is going, I rush to explain. I hear how nervous I sound. He pauses and checks his notes.
My mind jumps to conclusions: He must think I’m not intelligent enough to understand my own condition.
But I’m met with kindness and understanding, and we work out how to better fit the treatments to my situation. I leave today not with tears but with a smile on my face.
EXSM 3989 - Digital Storytelling Class Blog 