Girl Vs. Eczema.

I will preface this post by telling you that I was born itchy, and I'll die itchy. It's my genetic curse, and for the most part, I've gotten used to it. But every now and again, my eczema kicks my ass and tells me what's what. I'm not in charge of my body. I'm a slave to lotions, potions, and creams, and my epidermis is a horrid, peely, irritated and painful prison.
It's been a wretched couple of months. I can't sleep, I tiptoe around food, and the worst of it, the part that boot stomps me right in the lady parts, is that I can't be a good mother and wifey-type person. It hurts to play with my busy bee boychild, and it hurts to get down to business with the one I love. I don't have the energy to cook, clean, bake, screw.. all of the things I enjoy doing, and have come to know as my defining qualities.
I have been waiting to see a dermatologist for about 3 months, and Tuesday is the day. My GP has put me through a barrage of blood tests, narrowing down what the problem ISN'T, and making the specialist's job a whole lot easier, and hopefully, faster. I'm fully prepared to turn on the waterworks and throw myself at the mercy of western medicine --acupuncture is relaxing, but doesn't help-- to help me figure out what the problem is. If the dermadoctor gives me even the slightest bit of a runaround, I will turn into a one woman destruction machine, kicking faces, stomping on hands, demanding admittance into the burn victim unit to heal the road rash that keeps my guts from falling out...

And if I hear ONE MORE PERSON say 'Have you tried and oatmeal bath?' .... my inner barbarian is going to go berserker... and heads will roll.