After much cajoling, I made an appointment to see a doctor about my skin condition. Not eczema, something else, probably a skin virus. Wait, what? Doctor isn’t sure, exactly (’cause they never are) but it looks like Pityriasis Rosea; a skin virus that looks like eczema, but is more along the lines of chicken pox. Who, what? Huh? How did I get this? My best guess is, I got it from my Dad in the hospital. My sister recalls the hospital staff talking about some kind of funkiness in his blood, which, in his state, would most definitely seep out through his skin and pass onto anyone touching him. Me. Everyone there. The fact that my uncle, sister, and brother have complained about skin conditions leads me to believe that we all should have been warned and maybe told to wear gloves or something. Who’s thinking straight in that situation? Logic comes with hindsight.

Either way, if it is indeed Pityriasis Rosea, it should be gone very soon. It usually runs its course in about three months and I’m entering month three. Doctor further says that once you get it, that’s it – it never comes back; but I also read on the net that it could come back. Who’s right? The all knowing Internets or a learned Doctor? I guess only time will tell. And in two weeks, if it’s not better, the doctor will do a biopsy and send me to a dermatologist. Biopsy for what? Cancer? Pretty scary notion. Let’s hope it’s this Pityriasis Rosea and be done with it. I’m on two forms of cortisone and it seems to be helping. I was hoping to conquer this with the aid of Mother Nature, but alas, I’m frustrated and ready to try anything. Mother Nature, like modern medicine is mostly a series of trial and error. Mother Nature also takes longer if you don’t know what you’re dealing with. I never would have guess I had Pityriasis Rosea or anything similar. This whole time I was thinking eczema and nothing else.

Over the weekend, I was really depressed and slept a lot. It was like the world came crashing down. I hid underneath my blankets and stayed there. On Sunday, I awoke with one of the worst migraines I’ve had in a long time. I’m not sure I feel better this morning, but I’m glad to be up and about. My house has suffered the mess that comes with not being able to clean it in two days. Luckily, my sweet boyfriend, who has been offering moral support and food, also washed the dishes. I really am lucky to have him.

I’ve been missing my dad more and more lately. The facade that he’s alive in another city is lifting and it’s really starting to hit me harder than ever. I could pretend I just hadn’t talked to him in a while, but that he could call at any time. That’s all gone. I was feeling it before, but now I’m really feeling it. I realize that I’m sinking, have sunk.

On Friday, I sat with the doctor, who is this nice old man, for an hour. We talked about my dad and he told me about how he’d lost his dad when he was my age. One thing he said that really struck me was that when someone dies, we’re all alone in it. It’s just us and the loss. Not one other person is grieving the way I am and this sense of loneliness I’ve been feeling is justified. When I feel that no one understands what I’m going through, I’m right. No one can. And I have felt lonely. I thought I was going crazy. I have my entire family at my disposal, but I still feel alone. My boyfriend has been totally supportive, but I’ve felt alone. For once in my life, I am faced with a situation I can’t explain and I can’t rationalize away. I can’t fix it. My Grandmother, who passed away recently, once said “Things will get better…and if it doesn’t, we’ll get used to it” – This is the wisdom of age; something only someone who had lost all her siblings before her, could understand and truly mean. People die. I’ll die. It’s the natural way of things. Like it or not, that’s the way it goes. It doesn’t stop me from missing my dad.

Life is good. Good things are happening. I’m not enjoying them because I’m sick with grief. I can only hope that with time, I’ll feel better. Having some rare skin condition doesn’t help. I miss my dad’s sympathy. He always knew how to validate me and make me feel better.