Brain Closed

I studied. I engineered.

I became a patient. I studied.

I studied. I educated.

I had a problem. I forgot everything I knew,

When I worked as a network engineer and built computer and networks, the one always true rule was if it worked before and now it doesn’t, look at the last thing you installed, changed, modified, or threatened. The last thing you did, turned out to be the cause of the problem 98% of the time.

I applied the same logic when it came to treating my lupus and educating patients on how to treat and handle their disease.

Until I began to itch.

Day in. Night out. Day out. Night in.

It didn’t matter—I itched.

I itched while awake, which led to scratching.

I itched while asleep, but due to heavy doses of Benadryl, I slept off and on.

I remembered my father itching constantly for over three years. No doctor nor any medication gave him relief.

I itched some more.

Were it not for the fact that I have acrylic fingernails, I would have no skin. Every time I itched, I scratched. Even with acrylic nails, I can do a fair job of injuring and/or removing the skin that itches. I’m an expert when I put my mind to something, and itching required my mind. At least it required it to recognize that I itched; the itching didn’t stop; therefore I must scratch.

Fortunately for friends, family, and coworkers, most of the itching was on my extreme extremities, i.e. palms of my hands and soles of my feet and ankles. I really don’t think it would have mattered where I felt the urge to scratch. The itching was pervasive and unrelenting, and if there was an itch on my body, there was going to be some heavy-duty scratching going on.

I tried every lotion, cream, and legal medication to relieve the itch. I took baths with Epsom salts. It leached out all the impurities. My skin became much softer, I could fall asleep at the wheel, my vision was clearing, my acne was gone, but the itching continued and I have the scars and bruises to prove it.

I asked my dermatologist about it, but since I didn’t have a rash or any other outward sign or reason for it, she threw her hands up in the air and suggested counseling or seeking the advice of some general practitioner.

Years ago, while interviewing for a job with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, I was asked what my greatest strength and greatest weakness is. I replied, “I’m as determined as a bulldog.” That can be good because I never give up. It can also be bad because I never give up, or give in.

After three or four months of the itch-scratch cycle, I feared that the itching and I would coexist in my body until I had removed my skin or the itch succumbed to whatever it was going to succumb to. I was right.

And then one day while driving to work, my brain engaged in logical thinking, which is something I try to avoid. It spoke to me reminding me of the one infallible rule of engineering—if it worked and you made a change and now it doesn’t work, look at the last thing you did. Well, the last thing I had done was scratch. But one of my many doctors had added two new medications to my list, the last one being some drug to help lower the cholesterol. Or was it the one for my blood pressure which was being used to protect my kidneys?

Whichever. Stop taking the medication and see if the itching stops.

So I did.

I stopped taking the cholesterol medication on Monday. After the Sunday which required 100mg of Benadryl in the evening to somewhat subdue the itching, I was ready for a non-itch day.

Success. No itching. I had discovered the reason behind the itch by using my computer engineering knowledge. So on Tuesday, I also did not take the offending medication.

There was no itching in the morning. At lunchtime, the familiar urge to scratch returned with a vengeance. I obliged. I scratched. I itched, so I scratched some more. I left marks on my arm but continued to scratch. Within an hour the itch was gone, the marks on the arm remained. So I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment.

The itching stopped as soon as the appointment was scheduled. No itching that night. No itching the next morning. No itching at all.

I’m suspect that this itching has a mind of my own so I intend to see the doctor. I think I have this crap figured out, but just in case.

I am amazed it took me so long to figure out what I would have told a patient to do first thing. Blame it on complacency, old age, brain fog, not enough tuna in the sea, or the phases of the moon. If it happens again, I’m asking one of the patients I teach what to do. I’m quite sure they will have the answer in less than the four months it has taken me.

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Wanda M. Argersinger