Skinned alive

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I'm paying the price for being slack with suncream. Crusty vesuvius-like kraters have formed on my forehead. Pustules on my nose and cheeks bubble up and beg to be picked. It's beyond painful, tight and unbelievably itchy. Translucent shards of peeling skin quiver in a breeze and heighten the level of discomfort. The carefree days of this cap-wearing kid are over.  

If my head was a bar of chocolate I would be a violent crumble. There's nothing delicious about the thought, for my skin has been turned inside out by Efudix – a cream used to fight skin cancers.

Call me ugly, liken my expression to that of a dropped pie or tag my face as one that only a mother can love but spare me the suffering that this topical terror inflicts. I call it "Efu" and broadcast the name in the direction of any onlooker transfixed by my appearance. 

The Elephant Man frequently broke down in public. He was 'not an animal'  but by crikey his disfigurement made people wonder. Recently, I walked in his shoes. 

In an aisle of my local supermarket I noticed the gaze in my direction. It was fleeting. The focus on my face quickly replaced with a clunky glance back to the pallet of groceries the store attendant was stacking on shelves. Moving up an aisle and there he was again, peering at me from behind a mountain of muesli.

"Efu". I thought about asking for a price check but then the penny dropped – I was the elephant in the aisle.

It was a slow burn relationship with Efudix during the first week of treatment. Applied twice a day the innocuous unguent was placebo in effect but things soon turned nasty. All hell broke loose in week three as decades worth of skin were peeled back. From freckly faced child through terrible teens, krater face days and beyond, all were revealed and excised. 

Efudix is one scary script just like Face/Off. Far from an Oil of Ulan experience with any promise that I'd look younger for longer, the stuff is paint stripper for the face.

"That looks fantastic" chortled dermatologist Bruno upon presenting my fiery noggin to him in his rooms. "Off with my head" I pleaded, to which he agreed to in part by ceasing treatment. He was obviously delighted at the wonderful form of epidermal exorcism that stood before him. 

The colour of my complexion now could not be more appropriate, for my nose is red for Christmas, so too my rosacea-rich cheeks. Ho, ho, oh, Efudix is truly horrible.

What's next? A bowel screen in 2022. Happy New Year!  


    

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