Day 106 Night - The Delusion Of Being A Leper: On The Edge Of Just Too Damn Much As My Skin Screams For Relief

You would think the universe would be kind and give the present on my 45th birthday of a little relief from the rash ravaging my body and the exhaustion deep in my bones. But the answer was no, and the past three days have been horrendous as the rash continues to spread and resist all treatment options. I have the delusion of being a leper even though I know that leprosy means the skin feels nothing as it is continually damaged by the external environment. Yet, leprosy is a degenerative condition as well, and I cannot help but identify with the archetypal lepers in the Jesus stories. It would be nice for Yeshua Bar Joseph to walk past me with a smile and remove the trials and tribulations of these side effects with a wave of his hand. Indeed, then you would have to categorize me as a true believer, but spirtuality is not about rewards.

Although I love the sense of compassion and empathy expressed in the first picture, I identify with the spotty-assed Leper in the second and the subliminal notion that even Jesus wouldn't get all that close to me. Thank God the rash has not spread to my face or my genitals, and please say a prayer that I do not have to experience such horror. Even now, as I sit and write these words, my thighs itch, my wrist hurts and my ass is whispering that even the pillow on this seat is doing us no good. Trying to work under this constant wave of itching and sun-burned tautness is so difficult because even when the tide pulls away from the shores of my consciousness, I know it will return with a vengeance.

Yes, I am not cruising on the crest of this wave and there are no hopes of learning to surf this catastrophe and there is no end in sight. I mean, there is an end in sight and it could be as little a three weeks away, but every day, every hour, even every minute can feel like an eternity. The tide of itching comes in, the tide of tautness goes out, the tide of itching comes in, the tide of exhaustion goes out. May I please have the strength to avoid the drowning tides and remain floating in the eye of the storm.

Please forgive me if I seem to complain too often. I am not a complainer, and I said this other to the Clinical Trials Doctor and Chief Researcher as we walked out of his medical offices. On Olympic Boulevard, Dr. Ruane turned to me and said: "John, you don't understand; we don't see you as a complainer. In fact, we are amazed at what you have been able to endure."

Thank you, but it is a bitter consolation to know that you are respected for enduring the worst side effects they have ever seen. Why me? I cannot even imagine asking such an indulgent question. It is what it is, and I have chosen to continue until the end. It is a choice I have made, foolish or not, I will not turn my back on the enduring strength of this decision.