It's the pits
My dermatitis journal, entry #0001
Alakazam!
I saw a commercial once for some medication that aims to treat folks with Mesothelioma. Instead of a dry recitation of the product’s effects (side and otherwise), the commercial featured a middle-aged lady sitting at a nice desk at home and writing in a notebook, by hand. A fire crackled in the fireplace in the background. The voiceover clued us in that this was entry #10,087 in her “Mesothelioma Journal”.
I had heard of journalling as a way to come to grips with mental or emotional stress, but not as a way to deal with physical ailments. But of course I instantly recognized that our physical state cannot help but influence our mental state.
And so, Dear Journal, let me tell you about my dermatitis.
The other day I went to my dermatologist for my annual skin inspection. I had no problems that I knew of, just the usual growing collection of benign skin tags and age spots. However, the sharp-eyed medico noticed a worrisome redness in my armpits. Worrisome to her, that is; I had no discomfort and no awareness of the rash until she pointed it out.
I assumed that my lack of discomfort would mean no treatment, but Au Contraire. That’s not gratuitous French—that’s my doctor’s name: Helena Au Contraire. Dr. Contraire told me to stop using Axe body spray and deodorant.
I said, “Au contraire.”
She said, “Yes, Christopher Jones, birthdate 10/12/60?”
I said, “No, that was gratuitous French. I deny any past usage of Axe products.”
She said, “Oh, I thought that’s what you told me you used.”
I said, “Au contraire.”
She said, “What now?”
I said, “No, I’m still denying the Axe usage. I told you that I use Old Spice deodorant. And I didn’t mention body spray, but I don’t use it—Axe or any other variety.”
She glanced at her notes in confusion, and I realized what had happened. Dr. Au Contraire is youngish, probably barely in her 30s. I am 61. When she inquired about my grooming and hygiene products and I said the words “Old Spice solid deodorant” she stopped listening after the first two words and went off into a reverie that went something like this: “Ah, another old codger who uses Old Spice. He probably bathes in the stuff, thinks the young chicks dig it. Did he wear it today? *sniff*. Au Contraire. What? Oh, that’s French. Nope, he’s all natural today. Gross old fart. These old guys think they’re teenagers, so on goes the inappropriate quantities of cologne. What was it? Oh yeah, teenagers routinely douse themselves in Axe Body Spray. I will crush his spirit. I will tell him to stop wielding ‘the Axe.’ So shall it be written, so shall it be done.”
So, by a confused series of stereotypical associations, she moved me from the Old Spice Solid category to the Axe products category.
Au Contraire.
That’s who did that.
Dr. Au Contraire then gave me a list of dermatologist-recommended deodorants and body washes, all of which have medicinal names and marketing campaigns and none of the randy swagger of Old Spice or Axe. You see, as you age into a state of illness and decay, product manufacturers don’t have to woo you with lifestyle- and personality-based marketing. They drop the jolly facade and usher you into your new grim shopping aisle—the one with product names that themselves sound like diseases or, at best, aquatic creatures (Cetaphil is my new jam). They don’t have to spend on marketing and attractive packaging because they know the doctor will provide a steady stream of buyers.
The reduced marketing budget means these products for gross oldsters with gross conditions are cheaper than mainstream products, right?
Au contraire. I just spent nearly ten bucks on a pint of body wash. Me. Chris Jones. Of course, that was at Walgreen’s, where I was also getting a prescription filled. I will seek lower prices elsewhere, but since I am now a member of a somewhat captive market I doubt I will find it much cheaper anywhere else. I say “somewhat captive” because I could, of course, ignore doctor’s advice and just live with raw pits which, after all, might have simply been caused by my constant wearing of bleached undershirts. No thanks. Now that I know I have this condition, I intend to fight it till the end. By my medicated pits shall ye know me.
The doctor also wrote me a prescription for a 0.2% hydrocortisone creme that I must apply to my armpits twice daily. She said that I should keep my arms raised for a few minutes after each application, which sounds like a burden but Au Contraire: I simply apply the cream just before my morning and evening horah practice, when my arms will already be raised for some minutes.
You know, they’re right about this journalling thing: I feel so much better about my armpit dermatitis now that I have recorded my thoughts.
Until tomorrow…
Boing!