Saga of Sickness - Stage Holy Mackerel

Stage 3: The Experts

At the National Skin Centre, 2 doctors look at me and seem to have a guess of what it is but are also fairly confused by its atypical appearance on my body. Doctor #3 was called in. I was set up for a skin biopsy to confirm my condition as Psoriasis. Till then it was all guesswork.



Stage 4: The Verdict & The Heartbreak

I had a skin biopsy which involved some stitches. Scar for life. Yay.

The skin biopsy showed nothing conclusive. 'Dermatitis' instead. That's just a skin surface problem that shouldnt look as severe as it does. So what do I have? Dunno. How to fix it? Dunno. Trial and error.


Strange lady doctor breaks news awkwardly that they are going to assume I have psoriasis because the tests aren't showing much. So I have to start treatment 3x a week.

What does that mean? Psoriasis is when the immune system is wrongly triggered and overreacting to something scientifically yet unknown. It is an old disease but still not fully understood. It is not contagious. Stress can prompt it, but the hereditary potential was already there. So... I'm allergic to stress?


The Mother Curveball: Psoriasis is a life-long condition. Everything changed.

It can be calmed down but only after u find out the right measure for u, which takes long to figure out. But even then, it is not a permanent cure. I cried hard. The receptionist sympathized saying she hates seeing pretty girls find out they have psoriasis.

This is where the emotional rollercoasted started speeding up with more and more irregular upturns and downturns.



Stage 5: Drinking Sunshine & Sucking Blood

3 times a week, I am beckoned to a place irritatingly hard to get to, to stand naked in a box that shines the suns rays on me. I get a suntan but an slightly increased risk of skin cancer. 2 hours of travelling for 2 mins of sunlight.

They set me up with a new doctor, far more attentive, who did some bloodtests and confirmed my suspicion that pple might judge me due to the rash's resemblance to a particularly frowned upon disease. The tests all came back showing that I was normal and had nothing to worry about. But the fear of a stigma I didn't remotely deserve was wedged in my mind. More mindtricks. And a survey to confirm that I will face more psychosocial problems due to my perceived. And an admittance to my mother that I was afraid of looking for new jobs and entering the professional world looking like I do.



Stage 5: The Surprise Needle

Then I had something rather gross n fascinating happen. I got a piercing on my upper ear. It typically takes 2 weeks to heal. I let it be for 1 month.

Then, I turned it the opposite way so the stud is on the outside and the backing is on the inside of my ear. In 1 and a half days, my skin managed to grow over it and it got embedded inside. How sick is that?

I went to the doctor, who laughed at me 'Everyday new problem, ah you?' To which I said "Yes, isn't my life fantastic?". It was a fun surgery, although painful, as the doctors and nurses were all young and funny, discussing piercings and beauty.


So I went to my doctor and

Chronicles - Stages Whoa to Whoaer

Stage 1: The Biatch

Red spots appear on my belly. I wait for the rash to go away. But it spreads to my back. I go to the doctor. Diagonosis - Pityriasis Rosea. "Just wait for it to go away, it'll disappear itself, no scars. 3 weeks to 6 months". 6 months?? What the fook? I have a date in 2 days!

I see her for 3 months and she has me on regular medication. It seems to get better. But then it comes back worse.

Curveball: Diagnosis was wrong. The meds are steroids and messes up my hormones. Each appointment, every 2-3weeks, costed about $60, only to make it worse.



Stage 2: The Others

I am sent to the polyclinic to get a referral for the skin centre. The doctor's jaw drops when he sees my meds. He calls a senior doctor. I am instructed to ease off the meds asap. I am terrified.

Curveball: Appointment is set for mid February, 3 months away.



I have a cold and see my regular doctor who usually has no expression. His eyes are wide open and he is at the edge of his seat.

Curveball: The steroids are 4x the normal dosage and lasted too long. Side effects have given me crazy food cravings and a 'moonface'. Now I'm being fattened and the one exercise I like - swimming- is no longer an option as I am to avoid the sun, chlorine and scaring people out of pools.



I have a ridiculously high fever and go to see the trusted family doctor of the ENTIRE family clan, on New Year's Eve. He is expensive but all-wise.

Curveball: He says "When u find out what it is, let me know". Classic. He says no milk, no juice.

Chronicles of the pox

Several months ago, I put down the pen because my 'cathartic writing' was somewhat destructive. I've kept journals since I was 9, so a break was a big deal. I was doing great at it. Now, I have to write because I am not making mountains out of molehills. I am actually traversing mountains. So...

I will keep accounts of the changes in my situation, particularly that of my illness that has sent me whirling in circles. From the looks of things (and how many unexpected curveballs I've been dealt), there's gonna be more drama.

I'm not sure who is going to read this. But I feel like I need to get it down. And there are other people who are ill, and write about it to get advice and console others etc. And just so my friends understand me I guess.

I appreciate comments, but I will admit that I can't handle harsh ones. So resist.



Here begins the story of my now.

Laying in the pocket of a wave

I never quite expected the transition from teens to the 20s to be this big but it has been pretty monumental so far.

I will try another day to recap the changes but right now I want to write about right now.

I came home from a night out feeling rather down abt having this skin infection. I can't drink. Itchy but can't scratch. Can't wear alot of my wardrobe. Can't really pay attention to boys. I can't eat prawns. I can't save much. I can't swim n therefore exercise. I'm hesitant to look for work. Hesitant to dance. Hesitant to stand in the light. Hesitant abt photographs.

Good Girls Have Urges Too

I accepted, quite arduously, that identity is fluid. That has made my life SO much smoother. It's easier to stomach judgments, I'm more comfortable with doing what I wanna do when I wanna do it, I've thrashed the idea of 'the real becca' which really = the old becca, which now technically doesn't exist because it's all just one Becca.

It had something to do with living what I believed. For all the arts philosophies I admire, ie. flows and ambiguities, I seem to tell myself that I have to be hard-edged and boring and 'professional' and, well, that nerdy, squary product of Singaporean school. They'd consider that a success story. But I let that go and decided hey, if I admire musicians and artists and writers, and I am in many ways so much like them, why the hell aren't I allowing myself to be just that?

It reminded me so much of the day I allowed myself to dress the way I admired/liked. Be the girl I looked at on the street and admired without telling myself that I'm not cool enough. That's why today I have the spunky skirts, boring tops, covered-up outfits, pretty dresses, bikinis, tomboy outfits, tights and sexy pieces. Yep, all.

My Hungry Adventures

I expected to be in school for an hour but ended up there till 8pm. I figured I'd scurry on home for dinner, despite being a wee bit hungry.

I decided to wait for 10 at the interchange, a change from my recent habit of walking far out where I have the option of 3 buses to ferry me to Harbourfront. The bus driver was walking about in the bus, cleaning up, taking his own sweet time. "Is it leaving or is he parking??" After eons, he turns the lights off and walks out. Bugger. I wait a little more then taking a few careful glances backward, I start toward the other busstop. And then! Suddenly the bus is already on its way to picking passengers. HOW THE HELL?! I swear, it always happens.

I rush back and get on the bus. Third time I'm watching the same bloody episode of My Sassy Neighbour. With 1 good actress and 50 irritants. 5minutes later I get ridiculously hungry.

10mins later, I get a reply to an earlier msg, now she's up for having dinner with me. I've left school and I can't be arsed to wait around at Harbourfront for her. She is not a punctual soul. Blast.

I finally get to Harbourfront, where the hunger is really killing me. Hunger rarely gets me in a mood, but this time I was pretty damn grumpy. I'm glad I was alone.

I go up to Carl's Jr which I figure is the only place that can get something really filling in me... But hey, it's Friday and there are like 5000 people in Vivocity. Of course, there has to be a queue at Carl's Jr.

Grumpily I make my way to the foodcourt.

Someone calls my name. Don't recognise him. Oh, someone I've spoken to before. Great time to bump into me! He looks abit nervous and like he gets the feeling I don't want to talk. I don't. But I thought my acting was quite good. I was too damn hungry and would readily have excused myself in a flash had he been someone more familiar. But no, situation calls for politeness. He allows me to go and I rush along, ignoring that it might have been quite insulting to him.

I get food from the Western stall. 1 or 2 weirdos trying some brush-up tactics. Food takes ages. I finally get eating, with this other lady who asked to share the table. I go up to get a drink, and when I come back, TADAH, the bloody cleaner has taken away my food. And this lady, just sat there and let him. Monkey.

I didn't bother to say anything because I would've ruined her day, n no way my food would come back to me. So I sulkily drink up my lemon barley, give her a lovely smile as she thankfully bids me, her table-sharing dinnerbuddy, farewell. Hand my empty cup to the cleaner who is thrilled that someone has acknowledged his presence. Dammit. No one will even let me get angry at them!

I am now thrilled to be on my way back home. But I get stopped by a teenager trying to do charity. Fine, 5 mins I will listen to make him feel better. Ask for $2 and its yours. Aim higher and I'm broke. He starts doing their ridiculous speech, where you understand nothing. Thought process:

"Ignore.Ignore.Ignore. How much?"

Then this old man comes along and does a similar speech, interrupting this boy in the process, saying something about some charity, 'too pretty', 'this boy', 'I must' and ends off with "Now you must shake my hand." What?

I frown at him and just stare. Who the hell is this? Why does he look familiar? Is he competing with this boy's fundraising efforts?

Oh. No. He's from the same organisation. He makes me shake hands with each of them and then asks me to continue with the boy. Uhm, what? Seemed like a pervert move to me. He added nothing positive to the exchange.

The boy bargains and tries to lower his price but a bad day it was.

A man walks into the train, shouting into his phone. He's going to 'fac' and not 'fax' his documents and he repeats it, literally at least 15times.

Please shut up.

Then he starts making these weird sounds. No way.... Oh yes it was. There he is, in the train, with people facing him, digging his teeth with his bare fingers, complete with salivary sound effects.

Brilliant.

To love love

I am having a hard time keeping my chin up.

I believe the world is made up of people. And in our modernized dreams we have forgotten how to be connected to the people around us. We think so much of scaling the heights, we forget to hold the hand of the lovely souls beside us.

The silence on trains, the eyes buried in books, the fingers fidgeting with mobiles, the averted gaze and the unsmiling seconds of catching someone else's eye. We're so scared to smile.

I still look to find the soul and the colour in everyone. We are more than the test we last sat for and the my-alarm-didnt-ring-and-i-was-soooo-late stories. More than the tag on our shirt and the next party we haven't heard about.

I like talking to people. I like knowing people.

N I like when I don't have to make a big dramatic display to be counted.

If there can be you and me and a cup of coffee and we're still smiling, then that's who I want to meet. And that's the version of the world I want to be in.

That's not to say it doesn't already exist. My best friends. The friends of friends I can remember because they had a personality and genuity about them. Even the exchange students who could manage a lunch with actual conversation. They are definitely around. I just think so many people have forgotten how to be part of society. Social is just about a drunken cheer, an excusable inebriated smooch and roll in the sack + disappearing act. Or an exclusive us & them based on a system of inflated truths.

No. I like the people who remember to be real. It's not that unique. But it's special. Every time.


And to relate back to the start of this post, I have come to each person with a smile and an open heart. But sometimes they love and get terrified when someone can love back. I don't mean a boy-girl romantic love specifically. Just love. And in all that experience of people who prefer to stick with superficial relations and run from good times that aren't so erasable, there is a weight at the corners of my mouth.