Finally, in the summer of 1983 my mother convinced me to see a new dermatologist. It was my senior year and there were Proms to go to, senior pictures to take and many events to attend. She wanted me to feel good about this special time in my life. However, it was going to be expensive for us to see this dermatologist because he was very well known and his office was 30 miles away in another town.I felt bad because I knew we really did not have the money for doctors. Still, secretly I was excited that I might be able to finally take some pill and be rid of the acne. So began the years of dermatology visits and thousands of dollars in prescription medicines. My doctor was a good one and he was probably the most honest with me about acne looking back on it now. Again, he was progressive and well known. Many people came from 3 states around to see him. When we arrived at his office that first time it was very hot. He was located in a nice new office building that still smelled of carpet and paint. I walked in, signed in, and sat down to wait. Finally, a nurse, or what looked like a nurse opened a door and called my name. As I sat in this stark white new patient room I wondered if he could really help me. I remembered I didn’ t really like going to doctors. I felt a familiar tingle and I scratched a place on my face and it began to bleed. Great! I yanked a paper towel down from the dispenser and quickly dabbed the spot. Then, Dr. Bander walked in. He was a middle aged man, slightly overweight, and kind of disheveled looking. His tie was crooked but he had a nice smile. He started speaking to me in a soft kind of staccato voice, while I stuffed the paper towel in my pocket. “Well, I am afraid you have 2 different kinds of acne. You have the surface kind that we can easily help with peeling agents, so I am going to prescribe a lotion for that. You also have cystic acne and that is called Acne Vulgaris. Those are deeply infected pores that swell and can cause permanent damage to the collagen under your skin.” He continued. “You see genetics has done you a great favor in giving you plenty of oil to lubricate your skin. However, at the same time you have small pores and they become blocked very easily. Thus, the acne on your face.”
How I cured myself of acne – part 2
June 28th, 2009How I cured myself of acne
June 28th, 2009It started when I was fifteen years old, and like an ugly shadow it followed me around for the next ten years. It would defy every dermatologist and their expensive prescriptions, treatments with over-the-counter products, ongoing six a.m. antibiotics that created nausea beyond belief, and even Accutaine¾the “Miracle Drug”. It would engage me in a 15-year war against myself. It was acne and it was NOT my friend. It stole my self-confidence and made me think and feel that there was something wrong with me. There is no battle as emotionally taxing as one that makes you feel as if your own body is working against you. Your face is what you present to the world – it is your calling card…and my card was marked with embarrassing sores and pain. Why me? So, as I said when my acne problems started I was just a teenage guy. I played some sports, which, of course, seemed to make it worse. It made me much shyer than I would have otherwise been. Fortunately, I had some good friends and a girlfriend who didn’ t care about my acne other than how it made me feel. I was in many activities and my acne problem was always right there with me, front and center! When people looked at me all I could think was that all they were seeing was the ugly acne on my face. It depressed me and influenced my thoughts and decisions. I was not happy at all, so I tried to find ways to calm it down. My family and even some of my friends tried to give me all kinds of advice. “Don’t eat chocolate,” they would say. “Stay away from fish,” they would offer. (Easy, I don’t like fish!) However, the acne was still there to greet me each and every morning. I bought and tried every over-the-counter product, and finally went to several dermatologists. Some were helpful to me but most were not. One would say it was what I was eating and another would tell me it had nothing to do with that at all. I was frustrated and confused. I was constantly washing my face and becoming more embarrassed as the cysts and bumps continued their cycle of increasing month after month. Sometimes I would sit for hours with the soap drying on my face hoping to kill the acne, but it did not work. Once I got so angry and frustrated I slapped my very own face! Deep somewhere inside of me I felt there was something wrong with me and that my own body was at war with me.