Wanna play botanist? See if you can identify this:
Now, wanna play doctor? Diagnose this:
Okay. Forget that last one. That’s Grandson’s finger in front of the camera lens.
I could add plenty of pictures of even more manifestations, but I’d be posting photos of places where the sun don’t shine. You haven’t known itching until it’s been in areas you can’t scratch in polite company without blushing.
HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been seen.
It was pure coincidence that I broke out with this stuff a couple of days before my annual dermatology appointment, but at least it was convenient. I had plenty of Show and Tell. She pronounced it the worst case she’d seen all year.
Ahhh. I’m No. 1 in something.
“It looks like you’ve been gardening in a bikini,” she told me.
This body would eat a bikini. And I hadn’t been gardening either, but I knew what I had: the dreaded “contact dermatitis.”
The doctor asked could she bring in an intern so that he could see it. Since I have the rash in my ears, I wasn’t sure I heard right.
He was tall, distinguished and older than I expected… from India, I think. He’d certainly have something to write the folks back home. I dropped my gown down partway– enough to give him access to streaks of poison ivy (one, two, and three bands) globs of poison ivy, and a still sprouting rash of poison ivy, without having to bare all. I was a walking poster girl of contact dermatitis. He should be able to check that one off his list.
I have it coming and going. Literally.
I insisted I had not been near any three-leaved plants. She still diagnosed it as “poison ivy” but thinks I may have encountered poison sumac. Sumac is common here–poison and otherwise– but I don’t know that I always recognize it (she said, stating the obvious.)
As underwear is out of the question, I’m wearing the only long, baggy, non-itchy dress I have here that doesn’t scream, “Look, she’s naked underneath!” The same dress–every day. Got the picture? Face and neck covered in blisters and blotches, swollen-shut ears, and a ten-year-old “fat dress” that goes down to my ankles. No, I don’t stand out.
Did I mention that we’re at the beach?