A Simple Hello Would Be Fine...

I'm a social person. I talk to everyone. I say hello with eyecontact to people I pass on the street. I wave a thankyou to a fellow driver who has been gracious to let me in. I small talk while standing in line at the grocery store. I enjoy it. I like being friendly to complete strangers. I also like that I see the same three ladies at the dermatologist on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Lorraine, Shannon and the lady who never says hi.

Lorraine is so kind and patient. She sits with the girls outside the room in the cramped hallway of the office. She knows their names, knows that they love lollipops and aren't allowed to ask for them - so she always offers, even when it's nine in the morning.

Shannon is a lovely lady in her thirties. She has kids the same ages as mine, so she's easily approachable and has fun conversations with the girls about what they are going to do for the day, and what they brought in their little pocketbooks.

Then there is "the other lady". I call her this, because I haven't bothered to know her name. Not because I don't want to know her name, but because she has NO interest in anything but getting me in and getting me out of the lightbox.

The receptionist (who also knows my name before I say it each day), calls to the back and announces that I'm waiting for the lightbox and then they send me back. So they know I'm coming. It's a 10 second walk. As I round the corner ready to give the three ladies a "goodmorning" - she cuts me off and says "any burning?" That's it, never a hello. "Any burning" is really all she ever says to me. So, I've never had a chance to know her name. She never faces me, never looks at me. Not interested. Maybe I should go waaayyy out of my way to get to know her. You know, kill her with kindness.

So many people are rude and self absorbed, rushing through their day demanding attention, demanding things from others. I think how easy it to say the simple things. You know the "hello", "excuse me", "please", "thank you". It's not hard - but I think it makes the world of difference to those around us. Let's go out of our way to show them the love of Jesus with our hellos, our pleases, and our thank yous.

Hi My Name is *** and I have Psoriasis...

So, I went to my very first Psoriasis Support Group. I feel like a dork just saying it really. But I knew I had to go. No, God didn't "tell me" to go, but I definitely felt like I'm gonna face this thing dead on and here's just another way to do it. So I went.

It was a very small group. Just five of us. Apparently there are upwards to twelve members. They served Panera for lunch (that'll keep me coming back for sure) and I sat down. No one asked me about my psoriasis. We sat and the ladies at the table were talking about insulation in a basement. Really, insulation. I thought, "I'll be patient, I'm sure they'll strike up a psoriasis conversation soon." Nope. Just insulation. After about 15 minutes of pretending I was interested, I finally spoke up. I turned to the lady next to me and said, "so tell me your story, how long have you had psoriasis." And the conversation began.

It was interesting to hear each person's short story - when they first had an outbreak and where they are now with it. Two of the ladies have psoriatic arthritis as well a psoriasis. The youngest of us (probably young twenties) is in remission but continues to come because, as she says, "I know it will be back".

Then we met a wonderful dermatologist from Hershey Medical Center. He looked far too young and good looking to be a real doctor, but after hearing him speak about T-cells and biologic treatments I was convinced he was legit.

Here's a few things I came away learning from that afternoon:

1 - Insulation has a front and a back, with a moisture barrier on one side - so when putting it in your basement, the moisture barrier should be pointing north.

2 - I use the typical treatments that any dermatologist would suggest. I'm totally normal in the scheme of psoriasis. Not normal in the rest of my life of course, but just the psoriasis.

3 - The next course of treatment for me would be to go on a systemic medication if the UVB therapy isn't effective. Systemic medications are in pill form and work to bind and inhibit the the enzyme involved in the overproduction of skin cells.

4 - Three of the five ladies at the table use biologics - a weekly self-injectible treatment that binds up the T Cells that are wreaking havoc on our skin. This would be the last course of treatment when all others didn't work, or if you are presenting signs of psoriatic arthritis.

5 - The biologic treatments have been around for 10 years - so no one knows the long term implications.

6 - The dermatologist is not married, likes the theatre, and we're trying to hook him with the young girl at our table up.

So there you have it. My recap.

Let's Help Fight Heart Disease...

Check out this site and vote for your favorite Campbell's Soup dress. For every vote until January 30th, Campbell's is donating $1 towards the American Heart Association. So GO RED and vote today! And tomorrow!

Up tomorrow, I'll be recapping my first meeting with the area psoriasis support group. See you then!

Kids Say the Darndest Things...

I just came back from spending two hours in Huckleberry's first grade class. After helping 18 - seven year olds with guided reading and then having lunch with them, I'm pooped. Seven year olds are an "interesting" breed - they are quirky, have alot of pent up energy and are rarely funny to anyone but another seven year old.

While I was standing in line with my son in the classroom (waiting for several slackers to get it together and get their lunchboxes) his friends started up a conversation about my face. They were all very nice, but were inquisitive about what it was. So I, as quickly and as to the point as I could explained psoriasis. I realized as I was getting ready to say, "your skin cells die off every 28 days" I could already hear the "ewww gross" comments, so I replaced "dead" with "shed" and it seemed to thankfully go a tad bit over their head. Then I explained "my skin just does it super fast". Huckleberry proceeded to tell the kids - "don't worry, it's not contagious". I tell them that I have a great doctor (gross overstatement) that is helping me. That reminds a seven year old little girl to tell me that she too has a doctor at the emergency room because she has "ammonia" - as I correct her with little success, a little boy asks if I have medicine. I tell him yes, I go to the doctor three times a week, and he gives me medicine. And he replies, "oh, is it Proactive? I see that on TV." And with that I give a little chuckle and a "no sweetie, not exactly" and we are whisked away to lunch.

Kids say the darndest things.

As a side note - I think that all lunch ladies and lunch aides are grossly overpaid and age far quicker than most people. They are all saints in my book. One visit to the lunchroom a year is enough for me!

A Note of Thanks...

I just want all you ladies to know how grateful I am for each and every one of you. Your words of encouragement have been so amazing, so comforting - like a hug from an old friend.

God was clear with me, that if I was to start blogging about my struggles, that it was to get out all my pent up feeling and to educate - not for approval, not for sympathy. And so (this time) I actually listened to Him. And went into this with pure motives. It's been so good to "talk" it all out. I've been holding it in for so long.

But then you all come in - and just knock my socks off with love, support and encouragement. Each of you are treasures in my life!

Have a blessed day - I'm off to the Lightbox! Maybe I'll get a killer tan from all this UVB!

What's a Lightbox???

I make an appointment IMMEDIATELY with my dermatologist. Which meant I had to wait 6 weeks to get in!!! In the meantime, my spots were growing... and I was growing more an more uncomfortable as I waited.


Three weeks ago I went to the dermatologist. Normally when I go for a routine six month check up for my psoriasis, I sit in the chair (not even on the examining table) and show him the spot on my arm and he checks my scalp. Very uneventful.


This time, since it's EVERYWHERE, I had to undress and wear a paper cloth. So, I'm sitting on the exam table, wrapper in a big piece of paper. My doctor comes in, looks at me and says, "so, how are you feeling". In my brain I say, "look at me, how do you THINK I'm feeling". But instead I chuckle and then proceed to say, "i've been better". Then he says, "we'll start you on the lightbox right away, I've seen improvement with this type of psoriasis in the past". The nurse will get you started. And he's gone.


I proceed to start sobbing in the exam room. I'm not sure why, really. Maybe because I can't believe it's gotten this bad again. Maybe it's because my doctor showed not a stitch of compassion, and that day I could have really used some. Maybe it's because going to the dermatologist was admitting it was really back and I was not in control. Who knows why, but I cried. I got dressed, composed myself and spoke with the nurse.


She walked me downstairs to the other offices, and explains that three times a week, I'll have to come to the lightbox. The lightbox is a large booth with UVB lightbulbs that run the length of the booth. The lightbulbs are on all four sides of the booth. I am exposed to strong amounts of UVB light for about two minutes. Here's the theory behind phototherapy: "exposing affected skin cells to UV light through short, frequent sessions of exposure causes the skin cells to die, eliminating or improving symptoms, providing relief from psoriasis. Although it isn't a cure, it can significantly help."


I stepped into the lightbox for my first treatment that day. And as the lights came on, I just began weeping. I felt like my condition was finally being addressed, and I was so grateful that I was getting help. Then I began reciting the 23rd Psalm to try and calm myself. And what I love about Scripture so much - is that it works. It can calm you in times of distress, give you hope in times of despair, give you wisdom in times of uncertainty. I love the 23rd Psalm. So every Monday, Wednesday and Friday during my "lightbox" treatment, I recite this Scripture. And it blesses me.


I will be tracking with pictures my progress as the phototherapy continues. After three weeks, I'm starting to see that there isn't as much scaling on my face. I'll keep you posted as time goes on. In the meantime, here's a peek at what the phototherapy lightbox. My kids think it's "so awesome".

It's Baaaccckkkk...

In late October, I came down with a nasty sore throat. Thinking for sure it was strep, I made my husband investigate my throat with a flashlight. "All I see is red" he says, "No Spots". I wasn't convinced - my throat hurt so bad. But I had him check three times - so I let it go. I didn't make an appointment with the doctor. I just rode it out.

Two weeks later, I woke to tiny red dots covering a large portion of my face and body. I did some internet investigating to find this interesting fact:

According to the National Psoriasis Foundation website "80% of all Guttate Psoriasis flare ups occur two to three weeks after a streptococcal infection". That confirmed it for me - it was back.

What will people think? What will my children think? What will my husband think? I realize I care way to much about what others think. I don't like that people are making assumptions about my condition. And I know, as a mother, other mothers are thinking, "is it contagious, does her kid have it?" In fact, I don't even have to wonder if they are thinking it - some people are saying it, asking me point blank, with no consideration of my feelings "what is going on with your face?" "are you contagious" "is that some sort of rash?" I answer politely, wondering if their parents ever taught them an ounce of manners.

Revisiting this disease has brought up so much pain, hurt and rejection from when I was a child. As a kid, my family fought my battles for me - answering people's questions and concerns. I'm so grateful, because now as an adult with this disease, the questions are being asked directly to me. I notice the staring, the doubletakes, and I'm not sure how to handle it.

Then I realize my kids are watching me through this trial. What unspoken things am I saying to them, when I won't leave the house without makeup, when I'm covering my body with turtlenecks and hats. Am I saying that I'm not beautiful, that God has made a mistake? Am I ashamed? Will my girls think every flaw they have has to be covered? That you can't be beautiful and have a blemish? Will my son be embarassed by me at the pool - will I even be confident enough to go to the pool?

Chicken Nugget said one night as I was getting ready for a party, "Are you REALLY going to go to the party Mom?" I answered, "of course honey, why would you ask?" Her reply, "everyone is going to see your spots". Such innocence, yet little did she know, she hit me dead center into the core of my fear. I was really nervous to go to that party that night, but I decided I should go, and hoped that the lights would be turned down low so no one would notice.

Then one Sunday I told Huckleberry that I was going to sit in on his church service at the new church to see what it's like, and he said, "Are you sure you want to do that Mom, kids can be so mean. What if they laugh at your spots". I reassure him that I'm tough and I can take it. And inside, I'm not feeling so sure.

Maybe you think it's weird that I post pictures. And I apologize, if you feel like I've gone over the top, but I'm facing my fears. My fears of what everyone will think. The assumptions people will make if they aren't educated in this disease. Writing this blog everyday is helping me tremendously let go of the fears I face on a daily basis.

Next Up: Course of Treatment - "The Lightbox"