The last time I attempted a foray into the world of blogging, I talked about the journey of purchasing a new car. Rather trivial, a little trite, it seemed I wasn't willing to discuss something of great importance to me or to others. Today, I am bolding going to discuss a completely different journey...
Three Christmases ago I stood in the kitchen doing dishes at the end of the annual Kezar Christmas celebration held in our home. My husband's family rotates the event from one home to another each year, and it was our year to host. I had been on my feet for a couple of days preparing food and the house, and I had traveled the better part of the previous two weeks with my job. I had noticed "plaques" on the bottoms of ,my feet, and I had used lotion and cream to help heal the skin. The skin worsened, and this particular evening as I stood in the kitchen, I felt the unpleasant sensation of oozing.
I slipped off into the bedroom and removed my shoes, and to my horror, my shoes were basically filled with blood from several lesions on the bottoms of my feet. I cleaned the wounds, bandaged them as best I could and headed back to the kitchen to finish the evening.
I had had minor psoriasis outbreaks in the past on my elbows and the top of my left foot. However, a little sunshine and some over-the-counter cortisone cream and the spots would begin to disappear. I had been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis at about age 40, but truthfully, I had managed pretty well. I had knee problems and joint issues in my hands, but I would take some Advil and get back to business. I had a very busy, hectic, wonderful life, and I was not about to let something like a sore joint or some itchy skin get in the way. At least that is what I thought, until just before Christmas in December 2010.
In 2011 the plaques on the bottoms of my feet began to spread to the outer calf on each of my legs. I did not know it then, but my type of psoriasis "mirrors" itself on each extremity. So what the right foot and leg did, the left did as well. The tops of my feet resembled a burn victim's scabbing. Huge pieces of skin would flake away, and I was constantly worried about infection.
To add to the pain, discomfort and embarrassment, the itching was beyond annoying. It was so severe that I would awaken to myself scratching in my sleep and gritting my teeth. I bought and tried every topical remedy imaginable. I finally made an appointment to see a dermatologist, knowing that he would be able to treat this and get me on a regimen to heal.
I began seeing Dr. C and he immediately told me my case was severe. I was not willing to immediately start on injections of any sort, so we agreed that I would try a variety of topical ointments and soak my feet in Dead Sea salts as often as I could. My job includes a great deal of travel, meetings with clients, client entertaining, and late hours, so I tried to comply as best I could given the circumstances. I spent most of the year of 2011 trying to keep the psoriasis at bay, but with virtually no success.
My situation improved in the summer months when I would have the time to expose my feet and legs to the sun and salt water. I would suddenly be a little better, and then I would convince myself that it was improving, but by Christmas of 2011, my psoriasis was worse than ever. I was no longer able to wear leather shoes at all (the leather or any other hard material broke open the skin), I could not wear my signature flip flops (the section between my toes would break open the skin), and I could not wear heels (the pressure on the ball of my foot would break open the skin). The cloth shoes made by TOMS were my saving grace. I bought them in every color and hoped that my clients thought I was very "trendy" for wearing canvas shoes to their meetings.
I used large gauze pads and tape to "bind" the wounds to prevent or lessen the bleeding from the lesions. Dueto the swelling in my feet, my shoe size had increased a whole size from an 8 to a 9. My legs had large lesions that ran from below my knee to the top of my ankle on the outside of my calf, and the top of my feet from my toe cleavage to the top of my ankle had large swollen plaques. On the rare occasion I wore capris (shorts were out of the question!), people would visibly wince when they saw my feet and legs. Sometimes people would ask what happened, some would stare, and every now and then another psoriasis sufferer would knowingly nod or smile. It only took a second for us to communicate what we were thinking, "So you are miserable, too?"
The indescribable itching was not visible, however. The torture at wanting to claw your skin completely away is not something one can easily verbalize. As I made concessions for shoes, clothing, walking (particularly tortuous, as the very act of walking broke open the skin), social occasions, travel, and treatment, I began to wonder if I would have to begin the injections of either Enbrel, Humira, or Stelara. The descriptions and the warnings were terrifying! I was soon to be very, very desperate and the decision was looming.
