herpes

I stopped taking the Valtrex a long time ago. I've been meaning to write about it for ages, but with one thing and another, just haven't.

The main reason I was taking them is because the cold sores were fucking up my kissing. But then I wasn't kissing. I thought about going off them, and decided that I enjoyed the comfort of not worrying about cold sores too much.

And then Shelley went to the doctor, and though Shelley is on a different kind of antiviral than I was, her doctor reeled off a list of reasons that one shouldn't stay on antivirals unless one has to. And Shelley reeled them off to me.

Liver damage is not something you want to fuck with. I mean, obviously I'll fuck with it if it's getting in the way of my kissing, but I will not fuck with it for general peace of mind. So I stopped.

Seems I missed taking pills that are going to do me low level damage. And got burned for my trouble today.

I've probably mentioned that I have a skin condition called rosacea. It's a vascular thingy. Something will happen - a trigger, in rosacea-speak - and my face will react by getting red. And staying red. And, if the triggers are strong enough or prolonged enough, like, say weeks of crying jags and emotional stress and beer drinking and not eating as much good stuff as is normal, my face will also develop areas of red bumps called pastules that look kind of like zits but aren't.

Those patches feel like the desert, hot and dry and grainy and tight. Well, I don't know if the desert feels tight, but I figure that it must, since we have so much else in common.

By early February, my skin was awful. Awful enough that my co-workers commented on it - though they just said things like "You're looking tired." "You're looking a little flushed." etc. etc. And my face ached all the time. This is a strange feeling.

I turned to the internet, which is full of helpful advice like "don't exercise! take cold showers! don't eat tomatoes or spinach or strawberries or cheese or chocolate! no hot (temperature) food! no hot (spicy) food! don't put anything on your face! but don't go out in the sun without a high SPF sunblock on! take vitamin b! don't take vitamin b! take fish oil! no, take evening primrose oil!" etc. etc. It's incredibly confusing.

Looking for the quick fix, I went to my doctor. Fuck the vitamins, fuck the no cheese, no wheat, no booze no fun delicate flower diet, and fuck $25 cleansers. I wanted laser therapy. Six or so treatments has cleared a lot of people up.

Just not the people who's main problem is pastules. No laser therapy for me. Instead, she suggested tetracycline, an antibiotic that has anti-inflammatory properties at very low doses and has been a successful treatment for rosacea and acne for years. Decades.

I didn't want to take them. Yeast infections, I said. Three months of pills, I said. Then thought of how uncomfortable my face had been, how frustrated I was with not being able to figure out what worked and what didn't. Okay, I said.

It's been about a month now. I've seen a huge difference - my face doesn't burn all the time, and the desert dry patches of pastules are mainly gone - but I think that's more to so with less crying and switching cleansers and switching my topical medication from MetroGel (very drying) to MetroLotion (not so drying).

One of the side effects my doctor told me about that tetracycline can make you photosensitive. When she said this, it was early February. I wasn't entirely convinced the sun was ever again going to shine brightly enough for photosensitivity to be an issue. So I went out and bought 45 SPF sunblock and promptly forgot about using it.

Today I had a lovely jaunt out to Hintonburg. The sky was high, late winter blue, people were chopping runnels in the ice to guide the water to the sewer grates, the sun was shining.

When I got home and felt the familiar burn, I felt let down and frustrated, as I
always do. I went into the bathroom to look at my face and moan, as I always do.

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the bathroom was the sunscreen. Which I had not put on before the 25 minute walk to Holland and back in the early afternoon winter-blaze of a sun. Taking stock of my face once more, I realized I was not feeling the dry burn of rosacea, but the tingly burn of too much light.

I was relieved. One, at least I know they're working on some level. And two, by a much better mechanism than an overgrowth of yeast .

I been saved from the Goob.

A couple months ago, knowing how much I hated my own doctor, Jennifer emailed me to say she'd gotten in at the clinic a half-block up the street from us. In my quest to have all the same things as Jennifer (clothing, landlord, hairdresser, etc.), I called the clinic and got a meet and greet appointment with the new resident.

I went at the appointed time and was met and greeted by a doctor several years younger than me who was very glam, clicking around in her kitten heels looking like nothing so much as the star of Medically Blond. But she was very personable and very nice. She asked me how I was.

She was competent too, taking a reasonably thorough history. Though as soon as she found out I had a boyfriend, she stopped asking me about my sexual history. Unsurprising, but still a little sad.* We got through all her questions and she asked me if I had any other concerns.

I pointed at my lip, scabby from the latest round of herpes. "I'm going to book a follow up about the cold sores."
"Well, how often do you get them?"

Before going into the appointment, I'd spent some time totting up the outbreaks. A lot, was the answer to her question. I launched into my tabulations. In great detail. I was bound and determined to convince her that I *needed* valtrex. Her eyebrows went higher and higher the longer I went on.

"You know, if you get more than two or three outbreaks a year, you could reasonably take valtrex prophylactically."

Prophylactic valtrex had been a no-go with the Goob. Hell, I'd had to push her to even get a prescription to take them intermittently. They make you too tired, she said. Just take them when you feel the tingling, she said. Okay, I said. She was the one with the pen and the script pad, after all, and the Goob does not brook dissention.

And here my new doctor was, acting like it was normal, nay, even appropriate, for me to take a pill to prevent the at least monthly outbreaks of itchy ouchy blisters on one of the two parts of my body I have consistently liked my entire life. She hauled out the drug compendium, checked the dosage, and typed me up a prescription.

I started taking the little blue pills about two weeks ago. They have changed my life. That sounds like hyperbole, I know, but it is not. Because I don't remember a time when I didn't get cold sores, the anxiety that went along with them seemed normal.

Is that a tingle? I think that's a tingle. Is that a red spot? Maybe, but then I just ate that spicy food and had a hot drink, so maybe it's just the scars getting inflamed, or maybe. Hmm. I dunno. But. Damn. Don't kiss me. And I can't put my lips on you. Anywhere. Just in case. But, okay, my lip isn't crawling any more. Maybe it was my imagination. Shit, where's my lip balm. I need lip balm. I never leave the house without lip balm. Where is it, it must be. Oh. Thank god. My lips are getting dry and it's a little windy outside. And the sun is kind of bright. And it's cold. Cold is bad. Sun is bad. Hot is bad. Dry is bad. Oh dear oh dear.

It's made me wonder about how much of my personality has been shaped by the fear of cold sores. If I had been on this stuff from my teens, would I be as prone to worry about maybes and might bes?

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I would be.

Still, it feels like I've relaxed a fuck of a lot since starting the valtrex and I intend to keep taking it until I die. And you know, even there's a dire consequence for taking these pills for years at a time, at least those years will have been full of worry-free kissing and scar-free lips.

*I've only ever had one doctor not make assumptions about my sexuality. My first doctor in Halifax, chosen because her clinic was the closest to my house, asked if I had sex with men, women, or both. I nearly threw my arms around her and shouted "YES! I'M BISEXUAL! YOU KNOW I EXIST!" No GP before that or since then has offered me the both option. I keep holding out hope, though.

Current regimen:

Morning pills
2 x lysine ; 1 x zinc ; 1 x vitamin c ; 1 x acidophilus

Noon pills
1 x iron ; 2 x lysine ; 1 x zinc ; 1 x acidophilus

Night pills
1 x iron ; 2 x lysine ; 1 x zinc ; 1 x acidophilus

I hate taking pills. Especially those lysine. They're kind of big and emphatically not coated. They often get stuck in my throat. Kak kak.

Don't eat: Nuts. Sugar. Alcohol. Chocolate. (Let it be noted that caffiene should also be on this list, but if I'm giving up sugar, there is no fucking way I'm giving up caffiene. I'd get fired.)

Do eat: Lots of vegetables. Beans. Meat. Eggs. Cheese. More water.

And more sleep. I need to start getting more sleep.

I still haven't settled the the oral Zovirax question for myself. A friend has some I could take, but I've read contradictory stuff about the pills being useful for HSV1. Especially now that the sores are in full swing. It was good to hear from anonymous that they'd worked.

At this point, I think I might be ready to give up on all the natural stuff (though really, I'm not entirely sure how natural it is to be taking 6 lysine pills per day) and blast away at this damned virus with some high-grade pharmaceuticals.

This is my seventh or eighth outbreak since last spring. I don't think a month has gone by without me getting one.

Enough is enough.

PS Did I mention I think I'm also getting an ear infection? There is certainly something rotten in the state of denmark.