I’ve been dealing with a nasty allergic reaction on my body for approximately a month now. It started shortly after I began taking eye drops for an eye infection (not of the pink eye variety, I promise). As I am very familiar with my body reacting in fun ways, I attempted to self medicate, using topical creams I had been previously prescribed, along with some benadryl. It helped, but didn’t heal completely.

A few weeks went by, and it looked like it was clearing up for good. At this point, I was going through the immensely stressful situation of moving my life from Hell’s Kitchen to South Williamsburg, so if a skin irritation was going to strike, that was the opportune time. A week later, I went to visit my friend Cameron in Boston. My first night in, I find my chest and stomach back to an unpleasant state.

Push had finally come to shove, and I dragged myself to a dermatologist that was (hopefully) not going to hit on me and solve my skin crisis of 2013. Nice, this doctor was, but not so much in the helpful department. The steroid cream she gave me caused an even worse reaction, whereby I cannot wear low cut shirts (i.e. 80% of my wardrobe, fun!). 

I should have called her last Friday, however, I thought I was prematurely overreacting and decided to wait and see how the next day was. A combination of brunch, puppy bars, and margaritas with friends and a gentleman meant that I waited until the week began to call her office. Her reaction was unfortunately not only surprised but also, completely futile. Yes, thank you, I have an allergic reaction. Please stop the pain the redness so I don’t look like I have leprosy. 

So here I am now, one day away from visiting my general doctor and 24 hours into my first dose of prednisone, the most recent medication to be added to my repertoire  I’ve been updating my friends and family on my tryst, and luckily I have a great collection of people who’ve been incredibly supportive.

The true ironic part of all of this: both my mother and my roommate, while using a variety of adjectives to describe the hellboy image that is my front area, both remark how great I look. Great, I’m in some of the best shape of my life, and yet now I look like a burned victim! This is why we can’t have nice things.

[P.S. Welcoming all and any suggestions for clearing this nonsense. I’m thinking about using green tea and vitamin E, because I’m this close to considering skin bleaching.]