Things are happening, and to be perfectly blunt, much of it fucking sucks. In the last couple of weeks I’ve suffered some professional set backs that have made me curse myself for not keeping up with the gym regimen that would’ve easily solved my problem. Need I remind you I have nothing against using one’s cheeks to earn the bulk share of someone else’s check. That said, while I huff and I puff, and yearn to blow someone’s got damn head off, my sister and the little voice in my head have both reminded me that these things happen in my field all the time and each time I’ve found something else. So rah, rah and all that good shit.
Still, while that was going on I recently woke up to some freakish rash on parts of my arms and hands that quickly spread all across my body. Fortunately, I purchased a health insurance plan earlier in the year following a legitimate fear that one of my ears was committing suicide (or something). After going to the dermatologist I was told that I was suffering from a sun allergy post-trip from New York. Mind you, I was told this in Los Angeles, land of endless sun. Who am I to be skeptical to a specialist, though?
Well, I had my reasons. The first was the doctor walking into the room declaring, “Oh my God! You look just like Chris Rock. I bet you get that all of the time!” Actually, no, I don’t. Back during All Star Weekend there was a little boy at the bus stop outside of my apartment complex running behind me yelling, “Chris Brown! Chris Brown!” A few bus drivers and waiters made the same mistake back in 2009. That’s the only Chris I’ve been compared to in the past and to be honest, I don’t see that one either outside of us both being lanky and brothers in big teeth.
Anyway, after her Rock realization and sun allergy diagnosis she shared another opinion: My rash might have been caused by an STD. Syphilis, to be exact. My response was immediate: “Don’t you have to have sex to get an STD?” I’m not a virgin, but it’s been a minute. Several. Eons really. There are perils with being picky with your penis, though secret cases of syphilis was not one I expected.
She kept repeating that she didn’t think it was syphilis, but wanted me to get checked out anyway. In my mind I kept thinking, “Girl (well, ma’am), I ain’t got no damn STD.” I do get regularly tested, after all. And as fate would have it, I do not have syphilis. However, the cream she prescribed to me hadn’t been working. The rash has spread and my hand looks mutated. As a fan of respectable levels of vanity, I found this troubling. Same for where this problem occurs elsewhere on me.
I called the office – frantically – asking for answers, particularly about recent blood work done. I went to the doctor again late in the evening yesterday. That’s when I found out the obvious: No STD. Depending on how the next week goes, I might have actually preferred that scenario.
There is now a possibility that I have what is called a common inflammatory disease that affects about one to two percent of the general population. As I read that in the pamphlet while waiting for another cream I thought to myself how uncommon that sounds. A biopsy was done on me and I’ll know what’s what in a week. Hopefully. It is not contagious, but I was told that if this is what I have this rash can last for 12-18 weeks at a time or 1-5 years. Ah, it just really, really sucks.
Do you want to know how bad the last few weeks have been? I didn’t even flinch at first upon hearing that. Yeah, it’s been that bad. Needless to say, I quickly snapped into how frightening a prospect this all is. I was told that this new and seemingly stronger cream might eliminate the problem by my next appointment. Or it may not. I have no idea.
In the last few weeks I’ve had personal and professional setbacks, medication for other health problems cause my jaw to become annoyingly soar (after a single dosage), and now this. I’ve felt a bit lonely the entire time, too, given I’m far away from all the people I care about most. At least I have my mother by phone. We haven’t even talked about any of this in detail yet. I’m just grateful for everything else.
This morning I got on my knees (which I typically do anyway), said a little prayer, and just felt thankful to have woken up. It’s all I can do right now. Things will get better, but I’m not one to tell anyone not to articulate when things are sucking. I damn sure wouldn’t strip myself of such abilities.
I do have some good news, though. Those weird black marks on my otherwise pink ass lips that popped up mysteriously yesterday: The dermatologist says they’ll be gone soon. I said good as it’s not fair to have the effects of relentless weed smoke without the benefits of any high. Same for the premise of the STD pains without any of the fun first. She laughed. I was serious. Maybe she knew that. At least that’s settled. I’ll find out next week what to do about everything else.
Such a fun way to end summer and kick off the fall. You can’t see me, but I’m doing that jazz hand thing right now. And people have the gall to give me grief over a memoir. Look at all this rich material. Yes, I’m still working on that, too. Other things. Lack of focus lately because well…you know. I’ll get it together. I normally do. I just hope I’m better all around once that happens.
