Backstory: She’s Happier Not Fighting P (February, 2001)

Dear Ed, I feel the need to respond to my own letter, and your reply as well.

I once described psoriasis as ... well, do you know that game where the things pop up out of the holes and you have to whack them down? You whack this and that pops up so you whack that and this pops up and you whack it and — shit! — another one pops up and you whack that and you're just whack whack whacking away like some sort of fool hoping to win some stupid prize or something and it never ends.... Do you know what I'm talking about? It seems the perfect description of my fight with psoriasis.

I guess what I was trying to say is I got tired of whacking. I can't believe I just said that. It is hard to put into words, but I see the picture so perfectly in my head, it actually makes me laugh, it is so — it.

Now, back to the "argument" about the doctors. I have actually thought about the doctors and how it must be frustrating for them, but it always comes back to I just don't really give a shit about their point of view. It must be difficult to have ineffective or dangerous treatments and this must play on their sense of competence. However, they have no right to attempt to prove their self-worth at my expense. I understand that there is no cure and I am certainly not angry at them because of this. How could I be? I certainly don't have the cure. In fact, when I go to a doctors office, all I am asking for is their help. I also do not believe this is a huge conspiracy against me. However, I do think that they try to overcompensate for their own sense of incompetence and in doing so blatantly disregard my health and well-being. I also think in their defensiveness they are snotty assholes bordering on being plain bullies. This is why I am angry.

I will have high respect for a doctor who admits he does not know (could this be possible?) because P is different for everyone — that's what I have learned from my own self-education and from reading letters from other flakers. I can pretty much tell a doctor what my P is going to do, and it might not be anything like the last person he or she treated. Listen to me, doctor, and work with me, please. Tell me about the drugs and the possible side effects no matter how minor they may seem to you. Let's make a long-term plan doctor, the best and the safest considering the long-term circumstances. Listen to me. Talk to me. Then you'll be well-deserved of my money and my respect.

Isn't it funny, though, how I am not going to fight this and pretend it's not even there? I am not even sure who wrote that letter anyway [referring to "She’s Happier..." posted in February]. I have already gone crawling back to my drugs (well, some of them, for my Big Problem Areas). But I will not go crawling back to the doctors (until I am out of drugs and am desperate). Yes but I'll be fighting until I find the Good Doctor, who, actually, does not act like a spoiled child who just couldn't get his way.

I'm not really sure how much my P has affected my social interactions. I still think this is not simply a cosmetic problem. Did I say the comments hurt as bad as the itch? They may. Perhaps I would like to see the people making the comments squirm (at least maybe for a day or two, really, I'm not that cruel). I don't know. I guess if somebody doesn't like me for whatever reason, I don't really give a shit. I've always been myself, and I think that's why people like me. I've always had the integrity that comes with being just who I am. I don't think it has anything to do with my Personal Struggle. If someone judges me purely on my problem, they obviously don't see the person beneath that, and might not be able to — so who cares.

I cannot even really blame my nonexistent sex life on my P, either. Sure, I guess maybe it's not so easy to be attractive when you're shedding and raw, but I am not exactly the kind of woman to fall into some man's arms, either. (And that’s not because I’m cold, there is a shortage of decent men.)

Perhaps I am being too idealistic, though. Tomorrow my fingernails might just fall off (one of your letters has instilled a fear in me, I always wondered if it could get to that point, damn!) and I could be completely covered, and of course people might be afraid and disgusted, I suppose. I’ve really not completed life’s lessons, I’m sure. My little "Psoriatics-can-do-it-too" speech just might come back to kick me right in the ass. I know this. The world just might despise my flaking ass because of my flaking ass, but I'll still look at myself first, and perhaps won't give a shit in the end about any of them anyway. There's the old cynicism.

Anyway, just had to make a counter-argument. Sorry to put you through this, but you did ask for it. -Courtney J.

*****

Ed’s Response: Not so much a counter as an elaboration, Courtney. At least, I don’t feel I’ve been soundly countered. And, if I have been, please let me stay ignorant. It’s warm and comfy on your side of the argument, so I think I’ll stay. :) -Ed

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