You’re turning violet, Violet!
30 March 2005I know this blog is beginning to read like a Blue Cross Blue Shield Doctor Finder website with all the medical issues I’ve been detailing of late, but this one is really good. I am fully in love with my tiny adorable dermatologist.
This year my health insurance switched over to a plan where I don’t need referrals to go to specialists. This pretty much means that I can go to any doctor, for any reason, within the plan for $10, which is less than it costs to go to a movie in this town and, really, who doesn’t love wearing a paper gown and having people poke at you? It’s no secret that I have a slight blushing problem, as anyone who has ever worked with/ drank with/ made out with me will tell you, so I figured for ten bucks, it was worth seeing what we could do about it. Especially considering I tend to flare up when large groups of people are looking at me, and have no desire to match the (highly adorable and ironically maroon) bridesmaids dress I’ll be rocking during playoffs this year. I’m also fairly certain that the fact that I get sunburned under 60 watt bulbs is going to spell skin cancer for me at any minute now, so I picked a random derm from my plan and made an appointment.
My last dermatologist, in high school, was a woman who had actually been a student of my parents when they taught together at Paramus Catholic High. The new one is about a foot shorter than I am, Asian, and appears to be, like, my age, but could be one of those people that is really 37 but looks 12. I took one look at him and instantly felt the need to unburden my soul, especially after he told me that my skin was normal and not about to kill me any time soon. I tell him about the blushing issue (accompanied by some actual blushing, as if my skin felt the need to say “look, she’s not lying!”) and he says that if it’s accompanied by stage fright-type symptoms, like heart racing, I can see an internist and get on some drugs that slow down your heart beat. Hmm, tempting, but no. The dermatological alternative is to go on hardcore antihistamine and take them on the days when I’m anticipating redness. This doesn’t solve the problem of the stealth redness–the worst kind, that sneaks up on me unsuspecting–but it would solve the interview redness and presentation redness that piss me off the most.
Like I said, I can’t stop telling this doctor stuff about me. I tell him about how excited I am for Marie’s wedding and that I’m scared of turning into a blotchy nightmare that even black and white pictures won’t be able to hide. I tell him that I can’t bluff when I’m playing poker because lying makes me blush and he goes “that’s awful! I suggest you don’t play for money, then. Even though those guys who play on TV pretty much wear everything but hockey masks, so I guess you could hide it.” (In my mind I’m going, “Okay, World Series of Poker = ESPN2 = you’re not gay, but that could just be my own personal stereotypes in play here.”)
He gives me a prescription, tells me that initially it’s going to make me drowsy and that I should keep taking it, and then I ask the all important question: DOES THIS REACT WITH ALCOHOL? He goes “Well, taking it with alcohol might make you even more drowsy, but you’re going to be taking it in the morning, so it’s not like you’ll be downing it with vodka or anything.” Sigh. He doesn’t know me at all. It’ll never work out.
Today is Work Trial 1 on the drugs. I felt it kick in around 10, cause I immediately got woozy and started walking into walls. I’ve also never experienced the “dry mouth” symptoms that those drug commercials talk about, but I totally get it now. The larger problem is that I want to pass out and am kind of viewing everything through that soap opera-esque haze. I’ve been pounding English Breakfast tea– a la work-friend Leah– in the hopes that the caffiene will counteract it without making me act like a crack-addicted ferret.
The larger issue is that no one has put me in a red-inducing situation yet. Hopefully when we do our taxes at lunch (huge nerd, yes) someone will tell me my math skills suck and I’ll get upset and blush. (Though, really, if I could do math, wouldn’t I be in a higher paying industry? thought so.) Or my boss will get out of her meeting and tell me that I took a phone message wrong or something and that’ll set me off. Failing that, I’m going to need my friends to tease me about boys or make oral sex jokes or do something to get me uncomfortable, otherwise I’ll just have to keep drugging myself and sleepwalking through these trial runs. I invite you all to participate. First one to make me blush wins a prize.
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