My Journey With Itch

I'd like to be able to tell you that "Itch" was a lovable pet I named for it's scratching fetish.

I'd like to say this journey was only mildly irritating, like that one customer who calls asking if your store is open (when it clearly is).

I'd like to tell you this tale has a happy ending, when honestly, it feels like a never-ending trek through the desert.

No, my journey with itch has been a tiresome, painful one; one I'd really like to escape sometime.

Last week I visited an allergy specialist at the hospital. He was a nice man who clearly knew a lot, but because the symptoms of my reaction had subsided, he couldn't do much. He DID however tell me that I had a fungal infection where the allergic reaction had been (caused by the cream I'd been using to combat the allergy... *sigh*), so I needed to use a different cream to get rid of that.

Fast forward 6 days and the rash has spread and I've somehow caught an infection in both eyes which has made them sore, itchy and red.

This, my friends, is my constant battle with Itch.

It started a good 16 years ago, when I took a dive in Hinze Dam on the Gold Coast hinterland and contracted a blue-green algae infection which turned into a nasty, scratch-yourself-until-you-bleed rash that spread across my entire body. After 12 months of doctor's visits; countless creams and medications; teary meltdowns and sleepless nights, we finally realised that there was one common factor in all of it - soap.

I was allergic to fucking soap. And pretty much anything scented (like perfumes, body wash and bath bombs *shudders*).

I wish it stopped there.

For awhile I seemed okay. We eliminated a number of itch-causers and discovered a few new ones. But then a couple of months later, my body reacted again. It was a live wire you only had to touch with something foreign and it would light my skin up like a Christmas tree. The only reprieve was to eliminate the substance, stay in my pyjamas for a few days and hope like hell the itch would go away.

My mantra has been avoidance ever since.

Over the years, Itch and I have learned to live with each other. I know if I indulge in rose petal oils during a massage, Itch will be my penance the next day. If I dare to buy Body Shop or Lush products, the consequence will be severe. As I'm aware of the cost, I usually avoid these luxuries and Itch will leave me alone. Unfortunately, that isn't always the case.

A few months ago, my old enemy returned with a vengeance. This time, without any rhyme or reason. Two weeks of tearing my skin apart finally drove me to the doctor, and in desperation I asked him what I could do. He referred me to the allergy specialist, and now here we are: uncomfortable, red and sore and still no closer to understanding what on earth Itch wants with me.

The specialist told me I most likely had one of three things (or a combo of all three, ha): surface dermatitis, eczema or urticaria. All have different treatments, and it isn't apparent which treatment would be the most effective. He also didn't say there was a cure for any of them.

You can imagine my response to that.

Fortunately (I guess) Itch and I have become well acquainted over the years, so while it drives me insane, I push it out of my conscious mind quickly. It doesn't help my sanity if I dwell on it all the time; usually I do my best to ignore it until it passes. This is what I must do now, even though Itch hasn't stuck around this long for a couple of years at least.

I like to believe I'm a fairly positive person. I love my life. I'm blessed with many beautiful things and surrounded by plenty of gorgeous people. But when it comes to Itch, I find it incredibly difficult to keep my head held high and my mind free from negative thoughts. I dislike feeling sorry for myself, but Itch brings this upon me. I try and distract myself, but often to no avail. Itch invades every square inch of my body and my life. It is remorseless and relentless and sometimes, I want to give up and cry.

I think what I want to tell you, dear reader, is that I understand what it feels like to be tormented by something. When all you want is to be free, but for some unfathomable reason you've been given this burden to bear. And it sucks. By golly it sucks. But we shoulder it and soldier on, because that's all we can do.

I'll end this with a wish for you (and for me). May our hearts be lighter. May our joy outweigh our sorrow. May our burdens bugger off for a bit, and may we be able to face tomorrow.

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