I Haven’t Spoken to Them Since
When I was around six, I started developing eczema, or atopic dermatitis, rashes around my hands and arms. Progressively, they’ve gotten worse, and now at 21 the rashes cover over 60% of my body, are constantly bleeding, and react painfully to movement or even water from showering.
That’s where I’m at right now. I have a computer to type this on, but I’m in bed typing this with my thumbs on my phone. It’s even on my palms and the tips of my fingers now. Growing up, I would ask my parents to take me to a doctor about it. Their reply to me was chilling.
They were both full-time workers with successful careers and plenty of income, but they even rejected an allergy screening while they bought a third car (a convertible) between themselves, citing how expensive it would be to test me.
When I finally worked enough to get my own healthcare and took my screening…it was $20. By that point, however, I was already distancing myself from them.
I knew something was wrong with me, but they told me for years and years that I was being overdramatic, that these symptoms were in my head. When I was 19, still in college, they excommunicated me for questioning my gender identity and made me homeless.
I’m now 21 and still haven’t spoken with them since. Thankfully, I’ve been transitioning on my own with great success and have a place to stay, so no worries there. But recently I got the shock of my life.
Two days ago, I responded to an ad for medical volunteers for atopic dermatitis research, and met with the doctors. As it turns out, they’re researching an injection and a pill-based medication that would merely be a competitor to medication that has been successful and FDA-approved for years.
For years, there has been an answer to my sleepless nights and bloodied sheets. My inability to run or swim or exercise. My waking up to flaky, itchy skin all over my legs. At the worst, I would maybe have watery eyes, but I would have had clear skin as early as middle school.
The doctors criticized the weak medications my parents allowed me to take instead, and cited their severe side effects and long-term issues. They were disgusted at my parents’ neglect. It was the validation I’ve needed for 15 years.
I’ve been approved to begin participating as a volunteer for their medication, and am being paid and covered for all related treatments. I’ve lost my job months ago due to my condition worsening beyond being capable of…pretty much any job, so having essentially free healthcare is exhilarating.
If I’d never distanced myself from my family, I’d probably never have had this medication. Huge mental issues are high in my level of severity, or so the nurses told me, and I believe it.