What it is, exactly...

When I moved to North Carolina over ten years ago, I was fine. Within 2 months, I found what I thought to be a scab on my scalp.

Due to my extreme clumsiness, I simply assumed that I had hit my head and didn't remember. Unfortunately, it didn't go away. It got bigger. I tried changing shampoos, but had no luck. It began to spread.

Convinced that I was simply allergic to 'the entire state of North Carolina', I tried to narrow down to at least ONE soap, ONE shampoo, ONE detergent that didn't make me feel like I was covered in ants.

Then my hair began to fall out. Handful by handful, every day. I had a small bald spot. I was concerned that I may have Alopecia, but never followed through with a doctor to check it out.

Within a year, I was diagnosed with psoriasis. Thanks to health insurance, I was placed on potions, lotions and oils that were guaranteed to give me my life back. Although they would work for a time, nothing completely took the psoriasis away.

By 1998 or so, the psoriasis was so extreme that I stopped wearing shorts or t-shirts outside the house. In the heat of a Carolina summer, you would find me in long pants and long shirts, quietly suffering. I stopped wearing dresses, as the plaques would grow through pantyhose (which I wore to cover my legs). When I removed the hose, the plaques would tear off. It was pure agony.

In the instances that I did manage to make it outside in 'summer wear', I endured stares and whispers. I was asked if I had AIDS. I was asked if I had leprosy. People would physically recoil from me, noses wrinkled, as they backed away. Everyone was afraid that I was contagious. I cried a lot.

Desperate for a cure - ANY cure - I began researching alternative medicine and homeopathy. I bathed in Oatmeal (instant AND Irish), and milk by the gallon. I rubbed olive oil on my skin. I ate turmeric by the tablespoon, simply because I was told that it would help. [I now hate curry, for some reason].

Then I got pregnant. Pregnancy was, indeed, my miracle drug. My skin cleared completely; my hair grew back. My hair grew so long that, 1 week before Nooze was born, I had 16 inches cut off. At this point, my hair was still to my shoulders!

After Nooze was born, my skin stayed clear for about 4 months. When the psoriasis came back, however, it was with a vengeance. I went through over 20 different medications in an attempt to find a cure.

I woke one morning in 2003 to find that one finger on my right hand was severely swollen. It felt as though the bones were going to burst through the skin at any moment. I blamed it on the weather. As time passed, however, the swelling spread. One finger became two, then one hand, a knee, my back.

I began collecting gel packs, ice packs, braces and wraps. One morning, looking in the mirror, it hit me. I looked like a hunchbacked Edward Scissorhands. Since this clearly would not do, I called my doctor.

I explained the symptoms, side effects and pain. I was given an appointment for that same day, and many tests were run.

Over the course of the next few months, I was poked, prodded and pin pricked more times than I care to remember. I was diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. Then came the fun part: insurance hurdles. My doctor wanted to put me on Enbrel, then a fairly new (but extremely successful) injection that helped clear up both psoriatic arthritis AND psoriasis.

The main problem? The price tag. Without insurance, Enbrel costs an average of $2,000 per month. This is for 8 (25 mg) shots - two per week. My insurance company grumbled and sputtered for a good 6 weeks before finally caving in. The caveat? I had to order the medication by mail - from TEXAS. The medication had to be shipped cold storage in specialized containers by UPS - signature required. [If this medication is not kept cold, the effectiveness can be minimized - or lost.] Thus began the careful dance of working my life around a UPS route.

I endured 6 months of Enbrel shots, with bizarre side effects. I initially brushed them away as nerves, but soon came to see it as 'just the way it is'. Sometimes, when you are desperate enough, you just learn to sit down, shut up, and get used to having seizures.

I completed my round of Enbrel in October 2005. The 'pretty skin, pretty hair' season lasted approximately 4 months. I woke in February of this year with what appeared to be club foot, a back injury, and man hands. The arthritis portion certainly wasn't going down without a fight. I began to walk with a limp.

Thanks to my visit with Dr. Doogie, I was taken seriously. Dr. Doogie got me in to Dr. Yup-Yup - who is a dream.

I had my first Humira injection yesterday. In Dr. Yup-Yup's office. I stayed there for 30 minutes after the shot, and was monitored by a nurse to ensure that I was not allergic. They insisted on checking my blood pressure and pulse before I left. Both were normal; no sign of anxiety was found. This, my friends, may be the cure. There is, of course, a catch.

Humira burns. I don't mean that it stings. I mean it feels as though you are on fire. Should you not believe me, I recommend that you try the following: light a match. As it burns its hottest, slam the lit match directly into your thigh. Leave it there for 30 seconds, pushing at an angle to ensure that it is 'subcutaneous'. Don't move it - don't scream; don't swear; don't break it; don't throw it directly at the next person walking through the door. That wet 'I think I may puke' feeling? Normal. That 'Oh God, this SUCKS!' feeling? Also normal. Got that 'I think I may pass out' feeling? Good. Now we're on the same page.

Regardless. It is 24 hours later now. The burning was gone in 15 minutes. No nausea. No vomiting (almost). No vertigo. Most important: no seizures.

That, my friends, is What it is, exactly, that is wrong with me.