Here I am again, mid fourties creeping up on me, covered head to toe in psoriasis; a condition I thought I'd got a handle on. I'd gotten to a place where one would have to actively search to find evidence of it of it on my body. And as I pointed out in my previous blog about it, my overcoming of psoriasis came from no longer being bothered by it. That's a simple thing to do when it's not screaming for attention every time you take a shower.
I know why I am here. I had booked a role in a show in 2023 which I hadn't read for nor was I given a look at any of the scripts. Naturally my mind went racing about the possibilities, and as it always tends to, leaned heavily toward the negative; "What if they want me shirtless for some unexplainable reason?", "What if that barely noticeable patch of psoriasis on my flank shuts down the whole production?", "What if the make up artist can't cover it up properly and as a result this whole boom in the Irish film industry slows down?", and so on. So I made the stupid decision to use steroid creams to clear it up. This way I'd be able to put my mind at rest. Big mistake! As with anything in this life; if you try to suppress it, it will, with time, only grow bigger.
The only treatment that I've never tried was an immunosuppressive one with severe side effects, like lymphatic cancer, and now, ironically, I ended up getting that anyway. But don't get out the tissues just yet because it's a rare type that can stay dormant for a very long time. I just need to get a yearly check up and keep an eye out for the symptoms. During one of these check ups, a doctor commented on my skin, and recommended she refer me to the dermatology department. I figured it couldn't hurt and, who knows, I might be surprised by the leaps and bounds in progress the medical system has achieved in the twenty years since my last visit. Turns out they're still standing in the exact same spot! I was recommended light treatment. Convinced that it doesn't work, I was reluctantly persuaded that the technology has advanced and that it clears up 95% of cases.
I spent the next three months driving to St Vincent’s hospital three mornings a week and being fried in what are essentially sun beds. My skin was clearing up but with every session missed it became obvious that it was returning. I continued with on with a steadfast scepticism and every two weeks I was assured by my specialist that the process was working until eventually he admitted that it wasn't. He asked me not to loose faith and said he'd talk to my haematologist to see if I could start taking those immunosuppressive drugs, then made an appointment for a consultation again in three months time. I agreed, shook his hand, and vowed to myself that I'd never return.
I felt duped, because during our first meeting I told him that there's no cure for psoriasis and that light treatment would only worsen it in the long run, but ultimately I bowed down to his expertise. Now I was left in a position where I knew it was going to explode all over me and stay that way for a good few months so I'd have to relearn the tenets of acceptance that I once preached if I was ever going to get a handle on it. Cut to: today, and I'm covered in it. My immune system is trying to expel something from my body so why wouldn't I let it? And the funny thing is that when I decided I'd take this picture and put it out there, it began to improve a little.
I just wish that the medical system would add a form of 'Acceptance Therapy' to their long list of treatments. Because, though it's far too late for an ould fella like me to start loving himself, it could certainly encourage young kids to embrace their differences and maybe help them learn how to live with a chronic disease such as psoriasis.
