Thursday 20 February 2003

Pic of the day: According to my dermatologist, back when I actually visited one, the wart-like patches of thick dry skin will continue to spread until they cover much of my body almost entirely, eventually also my face. All I have to do is live long enough. Still think I'm cute?

Skin alive?

It sure seems like the warranty on my skin has expired at some point. On most of my body, the skin is in a rather terrible shape. My upper body is decorated with countless (we're talking literally hundreds) of wart-like growths in colors from pink through gray and brown to almost black. On my shins (the right especially) the skin has grown thin and hairless and blank, to the point where it actually reflects not just light sources but colored objects in the room, like a mirror (though not a very good one). And the shins itch like mad; when I eventually scratch them, they break open in small sores. This sucks somewhat.

It's with the skin as with all other organs of the body: We don't pay them much attention as long as they work. (OK, almost all other organs.) The skin is actually one of the larger organs, or so I have read: Not just in surface area, but also in weight. It's not just some simple membrane that holds us inside and the world outside: It's alive and quite active. Our skin produces hair almost all over, although most of them are very small. It also secretes fat that keeps the skin water repellent, and sweat that cools us off and smells human. It even kills some species of bacteria on touch, though many have gotten used to the environment and keep riding us for life.

As a European male, most of my body is covered with thin fur. My legs, for instance, are quite furry, which is why the big shiny patches really stand out. But since the color of my fur tends toward a light orange, it isn't very visible unless I'm wet. Women tend to have much less body hair, but are insulated with a thin layer of fat that lies under the skin and is part of it, giving them a smoother and more childlike look. In daily life, I don't spend much time watching women's skin. Or even my own.

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My face is perhaps the part of my body where the skin is in best shape, followed closely by the hands. This has made me think that perhaps wearing clothes is a bad thing for my skin. Perhaps I have a special type of skin that tolerates clothes less than usual. In summer I spend most of my spare time with very little clothes on, if at all. But in the cold Norwegian winter, and especially with the high costs of heating this winter, I have to cover up. And there is work of course. So I shall never learn whether clothes are an important reason for my skin problems.

I am also reluctant to bother a dermatologist unless I suspect cancer. Skin cancer has reached near epidemic proportions here in Norway after years and years of tanning. So there is less time left for other skin disorders. I try to delay as long as possible. Apart from cancer, skin problems seem to rarely be fatal. Usually it manages to keep the body inside for the remainder of our life, although it may not remain a pretty sight to the end. In my case, it isn't a pretty sight even now. Of course, I could probably do something about this if I lived in a country with less socialist baggage and therefore more dermatologists. I understand that Americans spend more on their skin. Well, some of them. Others starve. But I guess that's no skin off my nose.