A Day at the Derm Office/"Zit's Ok!"

I have a declaration to make.

I have bad skin.

Yes, I might as well admit to it and say it out loud.  After all, it's as plain as the over sized pores on my face.   

It first came to my attention right around the time puberty hit when my skin erupted like a Biblical plague.  I was in middle school desperately trying cake batter-like make-up that only exacerbated my face to break out more.

There was a war happening on my body, a battle of good skin against bad skin, of pores against pores, of facial tensions, a....Cleara-civil War, if you will.

I would flip through beauty magazines and look at my friends and classmates, unable to understand why I was cursed with redness and pimples, while everyone around me had smooth clear faces.  My family consoled me, telling me it was just a phase, and that it would clear up soon.  It didn't.

Finally my mother took me to see a dermatologist who gave me some strong prescription acne cream and, save for bleaching some towels and pillow cases, my skin finally relaxed.  But much like a real war, there were scars that remained.  My skin never fully recovered from the battle wounds from decades worth of blemishes, and while I don't have deep pock marks, my skin will never be truly smooth.

Once that had passed, a new threat arrived.  Moles.  Years of sitting in the sun with basically cooking oil as my protection had given me a plethora of moles all around my arms, back, and legs.  I didn't mind them so much though, until years later when the news came that skin cancer could develop from them and I started seeing my aunts and mother all getting pieces of skin cut off their faces and shoulders.  Then on a routine check-up my doctor commented on my need to get them checked out, but I didn't heed her warning until I moved here to the Sunshine State.

So the status quo for a long time was a simple truce between me and my skin; I'd find the combination of skin care products that pissed it off least, give it ample SPF and in return I had manageable skin with few surprises.  For a while.

And then it betrayed me.  

A few months ago, just as my wedding date was nearing, I noticed an odd bump at the top ridge of my nose.  I thought it might just be another pimple, but it never went down; in fact, it hardened.  I had so many things on my plate at the time, I kept forgetting to get it looked at and eventually the wedding came and went, and I realized this damn thing will forever be in my wedding pictures.  My evil skin had come back, and it had a new hideous weapon.  However, fearful as to what it might cost to get it taken care of, I tried to ignore it.  This made my skin angry.

Then about a month ago, out of nowhere, I developed this awful red rash of blemishes along the right side of my neck, jaw, and cheek.  I had changed facial washes because my usual brand wasn't in stock, but when I finally did get it and start to use it again, my skin still wasn't appeased.

That was it.  The final straw.  I made the appointment to see the dermatologist.

I called and when the receptionist asked what I needed to get looked at, I gave her the rundown: a skin tag, a rash, and a whole lotta moles.  

On the day of the appointment I arrived at the front desk and checked in.  I was instantly struck by the receptionists working at the desks; they all had this immaculate clear bright skin.  I wondered if they got some kind of special deal or discount, like how you see these Barbie dolls working for plastic surgeons.  Nothing makes you feel more troll-like than seeing what you long to look like looking back at you.

I was taken into the back and told to put on the traditional paper towel dress and wait.  I begin to fidget, wondering if I stand out amongst the typical teenagers fighting their own skin battles or the elderly patients that are here to get something zapped.  I calm down, reminding myself that these are professionals and they've already seen it all.  

The dermatologist finally comes in and after a few pleasantries, looks me over.

"Ok...wow.  So you are quite mole-y..."

Awesome.  She spends the next 15 or 20 minutes looking over and categorizing each of my moles.  When she comes to my face, I mention the skin tag.

"Oh I can take care of that for you right now."  And with that, she takes her blow-torch of liquid nitrogen and blasts at the blemish.  It feels weird and she says it will fall off in a couple of days.  That's one mission completed.

When the examination is over, she says that none of them look malignant but she says she wants to see me again in a few months to check them again and then once more every year.

"Because, you know...you're pretty mole-y".  Thanks Dr. Derm-ento.

I left, grateful that things look normal and that this weird growth will fall off soon.  Still the whole experience brought back a lot of memories and feelings of my past.  I said goodbye to the porcelain-skin ladies at the front desk, and sighed heavily.

I'll never be one of those girls with clear smooth skin; it's just not in the cards I was dealt, and no pity party is ever going to change that.  I just have to find a way to accept how I am.  I'm sure all people have some issue with their bodies, weight being the most complained about.  But really, I think I'd rather have a weight problem than a skin one.  Before you blast me, hear me out- there's no "cute" way to dress for your acne.  Curves are awesome and sexy, except when they are on your face.  Even the best of cover-ups and concealer still show bumps- I know because I've tried every kind.  And think about the characters from fairy-tales, our first foray into understanding what beauty is.  In all the fairy-tales I've ever read (and after taking Folklore and Literature in college, I read many), they never mention the princess having a tight butt and flat stomach.  She's always described as having silken hair, a lovely face, and soft smooth skin.  

It broke my heart that I could never be that.  But I'm not going to destroy myself over it.  Instead, I'm going to take a cue from others, and try to celebrate it.  Find a way to build support systems for other women that have tried everything and have just come to accept their skin's condition.

We're here.  We're not clear.  Zit's Ok! 

Got something you've gone to war with your body over?  Share the good word.  Don't make me be the only one here!