Bad news. I just took a look in my magnification mirror. It looks like the tweezers and I will be spending serious time together. In fact, just call me Mary Tweezerhand. Somebody should have told me about those hairs growing down either side of my upper lip. Up close and magnified, I looked like a catfish. A springy one under my chin could hold beads. So far I’ve only gotten to those long enough to rustle in a breeze. I could pluck a chicken faster than complete the work ahead of me.
Once I saw–back in the days I watched Oprah– a show on women who looked younger than their age. They were spilling their beauty secrets. One especially attractive woman who had a teenage son said that he was very proud of her because his friends all thought she was hot. That was a long time ago; these days the teen term for that is MILF. (In case you wonder how I know that, I read it in a book. )
The tv woman, in her 40’s, became so caught up in giving her helpful tips she confessed that she lathered up and shaved every day. Let me tell you, that revelation got a murmer from the audience! I’ve thought about her several times since then, wondering what her son had to say about momma confessing on national tv that she shaved her kisser every morning. Not me, Sister. Not unless folks start asking me to wear a Santa suit.
I’ve been holding on to a prescription that the dermatologist (A) gave me when I saw her last July. I didn’t get it filled at the time because she gave me some samples and by the time I ran out, I’d forgotten I had the prescription. Translation: I cleaned out my car and found four prescription slips. In the meantime, after I developed another skin problem and couldn’t get an appointment with Dermatologist A, whom I like very much, I saw Dermatologist B. He diagnosed me as having a yeast infection on my face and my butt. Yes, diagnosed and found yeasty, top to bottom. I’ve used the expensive medicine he gave me for my face and my bottom and neither has worked because neither was a yeast infection. So, after my find this week, I decided to go with A’s diagnosis of facial eczema. (Only on my face though; I’m not THAT two-faced.) I dropped these newly discovered prescriptions off at the pharmacy but asked them to fill only two of them. Whatever the other two are for must have healed itself.
Dearly Beloved and I went through the drive-thru to pick them up an hour later and when the pharmacist said, $160, DB’s head almost spun off his shoulders in his haste to give me that incredulous look usually reserved for the after-Christmas American Express bill. I shrugged.
“Ask her if they filled all four of them.” I was hoping for store error.
No, just the two.
Keep in mind that this price was after Medicare, supplemental insurance, and with a $45 discount card the dermatologist had given me. One was $7, the other was $153.
“Can’t wait to see you after you use that one,” Dearly Beloved told me once he coughed up his tongue and could speak again. “Look on there and see how much the insurance paid.”
The answer: for that one prescription it paid $149.99. Holy crap! A $300 tub of cream?! This stuff is GOLD! I have been reading the magic ingredients. . . four kinds of alcohol, citric acid, mono-di-and tri-glycerides, water. . . what is the magic ingredient here? Pimecrolimus? I’ll have to ask my-friend-the-Latin-teacher to give me some clues, but I’m guessing it to be a paste made from the pituitary gland of lightning bugs caught only on moonless nights.
And with that $300 tube of “topical calcineurin inhibitor” comes a list of possible side effect as impressive as its price. I might possibly get that burning feeling, headache, common cold, stuffy nose, sore throat, influenza, fever, viral infection, cough, cold sores, chicken pox, shingles, warts, or swollen lympth nodes. That’s not the look I was going for.
The instructions say to put it only on the areas which have eczema. At that price and with those possible side effects? Roger that. And the warning about not eating it ? Entirely unnecessary. That’s why I happened to have the magnification mirror in hand; I was trolling for eczema patches. I want to make sure a little dab will do me. DB keeps giving me sidelong glances; he figured at that price he’d be able to see a difference in about ten minutes. (It’s not a beauty treatment, Babes, it’s a medication to keep your everlovin’ Flake from flakin’.)
If the number of berries on trees are a good indicator of how severe a winter is going to be, I wonder if the peach fuzz on my face indicates anything about summer. If it does, start your exercises now, Honey. It’s going to be bikini weather soon. Don’t bother calling me. I’m not supposed to go out in the sun.