Prologue
You join us tonight for our little ditty,
about a rash that is most unpretty.
Tis a tale of woe and pustulation,
Can we make amends towards our restoration?
But this neither history nor an English lesson be, but a manuscript about me…eh Polonius?
but hark I hear him coming, let us withdraw my lord………
Scene : 1 Elsinore Castle, Denmark.
Enter Andrew, Prince of this blog, stage right, with flourish.
I have closely coexisted with my face since my earliest years, and apart from the occasional pimple we have been on fairly pleasant terms. I maintain my side of the traditional agreement, washing, scrubbing, and trimming erroneous hair follicles (am officially older as I have begun to sprout what can only be called nose hair). My days of youth have been slipping away quite unnoticed, while I continue to delude myself that I am still in my early thirties, my body decries all this by loudly announcing itself as forties plus, with a heavy emphasis on the plus.
As my health declined I first noticed the signs of End Stage Renal Failure when my kidney fell to 8% of the normal functioning capacity. Some of the obvious and tangible effects are a reduced output of urine, an overall sense of lethargy and an enduring metallic taste in the mouth, as my body was not able to filter out the toxins that were acquired throughout the day. All of these are well documented and I was pre warned what to expect from my super-efficient dialysis nurse. Accordingly it was no surprise that I only needed to visit the lavatory once in the morning. Imagine that, no more urgent dashes to the smallest room in the house.
The tiredness was as expected and I was able to get through the day, mostly with a power nap, which is where you paint eyeballs on your eyelids and snooze at your desk, whilst all those around you are oblivious to your state. Unless of course you happen to snore, which usually gives the game away.
As for the metallic taste, it can only be described as being akin to constantly licking a copper cornetto, slowly melting and depositing a strong tang on your tongue.
Unpleasant throughout, it eventually becomes bearable, but like those actors eating onions and garlic in Midsummers Night Dream, it doesn’t allow you to utter sweet breath, rather a variety of incongruous metallic flavours: Away! Go, away!
Much like the demise of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, these events were expected.
What was not expected was a constant bombardment of pimples, like the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Bravely at first, I resisted, hoping that by opposing, I might end them. However, the vicious onslaught continued until I surrendered and my face became a conquest of war.
Sc.2: Elsinore Castle, Denmark
Enter a messenger with two heads and a hand.
After checking with several medical opinions as to whether the incidence of pimples was related to ESRF and dialysis, there were conflicting arguments. On one side it was felt that there was no relation between the two, however another view was held that the build-up of toxins in the body may manifest itself in the form of pimples. With this divided aspect I was no closer to understanding this visual facial torment and still at the mercy of the opposing foe.
Flourish, enter Andrew from behind arras
Solus
So there I was, bepimpled again for the second instance in my life. The first time I was a lesser spotted teenager, enjoying late nights out and spending time socialising with my friends, but as time progressed I became a greater spotted adult, enjoying early nights in, and spending time facebooking with my virtual friends.
Exit stage left pursued by a bear.
Now post transplant I have been completely clear of cutaneous collections of sebum, unblemished by any spot, pimple, or pustule! I can honestly say that since the first week in hospital after the operation my skin has completely healed up and given no more of nature's facial “gifts”. Maybe there is really no connection to the previous state of thrice weekly blood cleansing sessions, and the almost daily appearance of spots, but it is indeed most strange that the blemishes have gone, shuffled off this mortal coil, banished perhaps to a nunnery?
Epilogue
Thank you for listening audience dear,
This short tale of poxes made suddenly clear,
The muse of ill health ever present and near
Now banished off stage where no one can hear.
So, on your patience evermore attending,
New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Andrew and his face aglow
Cast Assembly to front stage for applause
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