When my dermatologist’s nurse called to report that a recent biopsy indicated that the red patches on my legs were psoriasis, I laughed and said, “Ah. The heartbreak of psoriasis!” With no prior connection to this skin condition, the catch phrase conceived by some 60’s ad man burbled to mind as easily as the old jingle for Pepsodent.
The patches were red and ugly but didn’t trouble me much. I just wanted to rule out skin cancer, and that done, I was relieved. “Hardly heart-breaking,” I thought.
As time has passed however, the affected areas have spread. A specialist told me, “Psoriasis hates the face,” and thank heavens for that, because it seems to have a fondness for everywhere else. Despite twice daily search and destroy missions aimed at treating every spot with a steroid cream, only my face has remained unscathed.
During the summer, sundresses were out of the question, and I wondered if it would be the last season where I could un-self-consciously wear a tee shirt in public. My need for a new wardrobe prompted a shopping trip with my daughter. So fun! Why don’t we do this more often? Perhaps because our mutual encouragement reaped such a staggering profusion of purchases? Thanks to TJ Maxx and Casey’s compliments, I now have a plethora of breezy, flowy pants to wear on hot days; still, I’m not quite ready to surrender my sundresses to Goodwill.
During a reception while in Rome for our reunion, I sat next to a friend who was given a platter of gluten free appetizers rather than those served to the rest of us. He explained that a diet change had minimized the symptoms of his auto-immune disease. When I mentioned the psoriasis, he said he’d recommend some articles. Kind, concerned, and extraordinarily organized, he’d sent a line-up of links to my phone by the time I returned to the hotel.
While my dermatologist and most of the research say skipping alcohol might help, they claim diet makes no difference. Still, gluten affects enough people negatively that I thought it worth a try.
But not just then. We had two more weeks in Italy, and I was not about to abstain from the pasta, bread, and wine I was gleefully consuming in abundant amounts. The psoriasis was raging, inflamed and spreading, but minus the characteristic itching and burning. So, skin be damned! Pour the wine and pass the bread!
Once home however, Dave and I went all in on a diet change extravaganza: no gluten, minimal dairy, and for me, no alcohol.
As our primary chef and baker, Dave was excited by the challenge. He took to the internet for gluten-free bread recipes, and we have enjoyed the results. The loaves look beautiful – like real bread! – but a bit more crumbly than their glutinous counterparts. We also sought the wisdom of our local Kindred Spirits rep in guiding us to an alcohol-free wine that was not revolting in flavor. The brand recommended was “Win” followed by a flippit of vine which, cleverly, resembles an “e.” Dave did a Google search for “how to make fake wine less disgusting,” and, with the advised addition of a slice of lemon, I have found the beverage to be a reasonable stand-in.
For two months, I was a diligent denier of most things yummy. My skin improved some, but was that the magic new medicine? The lack of alcohol? Dave’s marvelous gluten free adaptions? The oat and almond dairy substitutes? I have no idea: we’ve not been scientific in our clean sweep approach.
Over the holidays, I gave myself permission to ease up on restrictions, but the new year will see us adding, subtracting, and taking note. In the meantime, I am at peace with my rebellious skin. At this age, most everyone I know deals with an affliction, some of them grievous, and I count myself lucky that psoriasis is mine.
