My sensitive skin.

November 2014 

After a long Melbourne winter, I came to the bleak realization that my rosacea symptoms were out of control.  Redness had increased, pimples and bumps were battled with on an almost daily basis and several spider nevi had left their jagged marks on my cheeks.  All evidence of the battle I was losing.  I was glad that my appointment with my dermatologist was approaching.  

I see a dermatologist primarily to have regular skin cancer checks.  Growing up in Queensland in the days when sun sense consisted of a smear of Pink Zinc across your nose and throwing your hat off as soon as Mum had disappeared into the house, and in my twenties having moved to Melbourne, I was using solarium regularly enough to combat the SADS.  Yes, of course there was vanity involved as well.  Tanned skin looks so healthy! Right?!  

During my first consultation with the dermatologist 2 years ago, she noted that I had rosacea.  Oh!?  I had no idea.  

I had, up until that point, concluded that I had very sensitive skin...and marketing had convinced me that it was special skin.  I spent a fortune over the years purchasing the latest products marketed at that skin type.  By thirty years of age, my bathroom cupboards were overloaded with products which I'd tried, tested and found lacking.  With no more room and even less gullibility, facials were now preceded with, "Please don't sell my anything today".  

For a while regular glycolic peels were helpful.  The burning sensation seemed to calm things down for a week or two and I found myself yearning for the burning and I was a good client.  I would pre-purchase my peels in lots of six.  I stopped yearning when the beautician put her prices up and I'd grown tired of hearing her boyfriend woes.  With her prices, she could afford to see a good psychologist instead of ear bashing a client.

Life and priorities changed when I landed a husband, got a mortgage and had a child.  I stopped worrying so much about what I looked like.  Did I let myself go?  I was too tired to consider that I might have and blamed my red cheeks and pimples on my tiredness.  In springtime, I would blame my red cheeks on hay fever coupled with tiredness.  

This winter, there was a definite shift in my psyche.  Tiredness had given way to self-consciousness. Knowing now that I had rosacea and knowing that people always attribute it to alcohol (and I'll admit, I do like a glass of wine or two), I started to hide from people - fearing they would judge me for my complexion.  I rarely left the car at school pick up and drop off times.  I made up excuses to avoid social gatherings.  If I didn't have a choice, I would take extra care in applying mineral foundation and powder to disguise my red and lumpy cheeks.  To draw questioning eyes away from my cheeks I would overemphasis my eyes and brows.  

The appointment with the dermatologist had come.  Skin check done.  Nothing to worry about.  Good.  "Your rosacea is very active", she observed.  And then she recommended trying a low dose of  roaccutane.  All I need to do is pass a liver function test and a cholesterol test and then I can get started.  She printed two pages of do's, don'ts, and side effects and said she'll see me in 8 weeks.

I'll pause for a second.  At my age, even a low dose is not something which will comfortably fit into my lifestyle.  For one, I am a mad keen gardener.  I'll potter about for hours digging, watering and planning (and wearing a hat of course) but also enjoying being outdoors.  Even low dose roaccutane makes you very sun sensitive.  

It's a commitment and I need to think about this further.