Opus 2, Adagio

8/30/10, 12:19 pm

I have vitiligo.  It started about 10 years ago, and I didn't know why little circles of skin on my stomach seemed to be whiter than the rest of me.  I'm pretty white to begin with.  I happened to mention it to a dermatologist, who gave me the name.  I was all for finding out the treatment, which seemed to surprise the doctor.  His attitude was "Why would you bother?"

So I watched the slow march of pigment death on my skin, in little patches and great tracts.  And I realized that I had the same condition as Michael Jackson (this was before he died, when everyone still thought he was creepy and weird), and felt my first sympathy for him since he released "Dirty Diana" when I was about 11.  And I cursed my immune system, which cannot seem find the right thing to attack with a flashlight and both hands.  (Hmm, that metaphor got away from me.  The flashlight is a headlamp!  There, that works.)

Until this summer.  It stopped bugging me.  And I realized, as with other types of loss, that there were five stages to my acceptance of the loss of my ability to tan.  At least in patches.

     1.  It doesn't show.  As long as I keep my stomach covered, who cares?

     2.  Hmm.  It's not really noticeable.  In fact, no one has noticed who I haven't directly shown.  Why do I keep doing that?  As long as I don't get them on my face, no worries.

     3.  Maybe I could make a joke out of it.  The top of my imagined responses to dreaded questions:

            A.  I am one quarter albino.  (Sometimes expressed as "I had one albino grandparent")

            B.  A terrible high school chemistry experiment gone wrong!  Box Elder High School is no longer allowed to have chem labs because of my horrible disfigurement.

In the meantime, copious amounts of sunscreen are the order of the day.  If I stay pasty, no one will know.  Right?

     4.  Razza frickin stupid pasty spots.  It's not fair!  I look like a spotted puppy!  Curse the universe and my immune system and people with only one color of skin!

      5.  Hey, look at all you boring people who only have one color of skin!  I am unique!  I can study my arms and look for patterns like staring at clouds!  I have my own unique pelt, like zebras and giraffes and cheetahs!  Maybe I'll get one in my hair and have a Rogue stripe.  How cool would that be?

And there you have it, my journey from being merely human to being Super Diana, who grows her own camouflage and shares her secret power with the powerful animals of the earth!

Take that, immune system.