I have itchies.
They started as a handful of inoffensive red dots on my belly, which I diagnosed as sweat rash from my hectic gym schedule at the time.
A week later the dots had spread up my sides, over my lower back and onto my thighs and itched like a motherbitch. Another week later it had spread down my upper arms and across my chest, and I’d wake up several times during the night to find I’d scratched myself hard enough to leave welts and bruises. Yet another fortnight of vigorous scritching with various household objects (hairbrushes, keys, the cat), and the dots have all merged into itchy red splotches. My torso looks like something you’d find in a swamp on CSI Miami. Horatio would dip his sunglasses and say “Well….I’d say the stupid woman should’ve gone to see a doctor. But damn, she sure is fit and skinny.”
Actually Horatio, I did go and see a doctor. She gave me Prednisolone pills and said “you’re having an allergic reaction to something”. This is utter bull dust because Inga does not have allergies. I grew up with mud, cow shit, pesticides and herbicides. I have been bitten by every bitey thing imaginable; ticks, leeches, wasps, bees, dogs, spiders, cats, chickens, cockatoos and GOF. I can romp through grass clippings, snort a line of pollen and eat a 10kg serving of shellfish satay with extra peanuts. Don’t tell me it’s an allergy, you ignorant, over-educated squaw.
That said, I took her devil-pills which predictably did nothing. I then went to a different doctor, who stared befuddled at my manky torso for a couple of minutes before giving me a referral for some blood tests. After hemming and hawing and scratching for a few more days, I finally called the pathologist today to make an appointment.
“Oh, we don’t take appointments. You just come in and take a number.”
You’ve got to be f**** kidding me. This is supposed to be a healthcare system, not the fricken Woolworths deli. Go plank yourselves.
So in short: I’m still itchy and I’d like my friends on the internets to tell me what’s wrong with me. I haven’t changed my soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, bread, cat, or meth dealer. My mum says it’s shingles, and I have a lingering suspicion it’s stress related. I’d post a photo, but every shot I take looks vaguely pornographic. The internet is not for porn.