My Origin Story

I use to think that my skin was as tough as nails. While I had friends who complained about having "sensitive skin" and the woes of finding products that worked for them, nothing seemed to bother me. Sure, my fair coloring burned easily in the sun, but for the most part my skin was good. I didn't have to worry about what I put on it.

Those were the days...

In the spring of 2013, after a particularly harsh round of anti-biotics, I developed a nasty looking rash on my left hand that just wouldn't go away. Some days it itched. Some days it oozed. Nothing helped. Perhaps it was fungal, my doctor suggested. Or bacterial. Or maybe I just had eczema. But no matter what manner of creams or potions I rubbed on my skin, the rash wouldn't budge. My primary doctor suggested that I see a dermatologist—a task which I put off for over a year. I told myself that I didn't have the time to see a specialist. I told myself I didn't have the money. I told myself that it would eventually get better.

Then last winter I developed a bad case of what I can only describe as "zombie face." My skin dried up and started cracking. My cheeks oozed puss. It looked like my face was falling off. In hindsight, I wish I had taken pictures to show how bad it was, but at the time I was far too embarrassed to face a camera. I finally made an appointment with a dermatologist, who was convinced that I was experiencing an allergic reaction. She recommended patch testing—something I would later come to find many dermatologists are hesitant to do. I took her advice and stopped wearing makeup for nearly six months and while my face improved, I felt naked without my tinted moisturizers. Yet I still didn't call to schedule the test.

In June, my husband and I went to Italy where I slathered my face with sunscreen daily to prevent myself from turning into a lobster. While I didn't burn, my face began to itch and peel once again. I spent the evenings in our room slathering it in lotion and wondering why my skin just couldn't seem to behave.

Finally in July, I bit the bullet and went in for the T.R.U.E Test. The T.R.U.E Test is a thin-layer rapid use epicutaneous patch test (try saying that three times fast) used for determining contact dermatitis and skin allergies. It was a week long process that began with a nurse taping three large bandages covered with possible irritants to my back. They then sent me home with strict instructions not to get my back wet or do anything that would cause me to sweat—a difficult feat in the middle of summer.  Within hours I was itching. By the end of day two it burned so bad that I had a constantly running daydream about scratching my back against a tree like a bear. Something was definitely going on back there! On the third day I went back to the dermatologist so that the bandages could be removed. The nurse's jaw nearly dropped when she saw my skin and she later told me that in her 15 years of working in dermatology she had never seen such a bad reaction. The doctor, however, seemed unfazed and sent me home to let the irritants brew in the open air for another two days before the final diagnosis. Still no showers allowed. By the end of the week I stunk and I itched, but at least I knew what was going on with me...

I had skin allergies.