I'd rather be Photoshopped than Botoxed

A couple of summers ago, my twenty-year on-again-off-again relationship with acne was rekindled. I guess the flare-up had something to do with abruptly weaning Heidi, and my body's subsequent hormonal fluctuations. [I had to wean her cold turkey in order to begin a round of powerful anti-depressants to help control my worsening post-partum depression.] 

Maybe it was the hormones, or maybe the flare-up had something to do with wearing unsupportive shoes or neglecting to separate the number two plastics from the three plastics in the recycling. WHO…KNOWS! Because over the last twenty years of intermittent boil-shingle-like acne, it's always been something!

Anyway, to avoid further acne scarring [and self-loathing] I made an appointment with a new dermatologist [my regular doctor was booked out for months]. My thinking was…it's 2008, and since people can order lunch from their phones, SOMEBODY had probably figured-out a way to jam enough science into a caplet to fix my skin, once and for all.

I've been trying my darndest, since I began writing this post, to remember that dermatologist's name. Because certifiable jackasses should be given full credit for all their jackassiness. But alas, I can't, so let's just call him Dr. Jack [ass].

So, after sitting for nearly forty-five minutes in one of Dr. Jack's exam rooms waiting for him to show-up, I began texting Ben messages like: THIS GUY BETTER GET IN HERE QUICK OR I'M GONNA STEAL ALL HIS PSORIASIS BROCHURES… Luckily for Dr. Jack, and his Psoriasis patients, he got there just in the nick of time!

He gave a quick knuckle wrap on the exam room door, and I restrained myself from asking…"Whoooo is it?" Dr. Jack, wearing the doctor standard issue white lab coat and silk tie, swung open the door and then proceeded to diagnose my acne from ten feet away. He told me a nurse would be in shortly [because I hadn't waited enough already] to go over the medications he'd be prescribing. He also told me to schedule a follow-up appointment in six weeks.

He skipped any niceties and went right for it. I guess he must have been distracted, what with all those dermatological emergencies. And, since I hadn't eaten lunch yet [and remember I had post-partum derangement] I may have lost my shit a little.

"Seriously, doctor I've waited forty-five minutes, and all you're going to give me is thirty seconds?" And in an attempt to look less as though I was losing my shit, I busied myself and rummaged through my work bag, careful not to let a tampon or candy wrapper fly out. And he was all, "Well what else do you want?"

I thought about that, and I guess I didn't exactly know. But, for a $175 out-of-pocket doctor's fee I'm thinking…what…a glass of champagne, an hour of baby sitting…a happy ending? I DON'T KNOW DAMNIT, but better than this.

After the nurse finished-up going over the medications, and ointments, Dr. Jack came back into the exam room…all the way in this time. He walked over to where I was sitting on the exam table, put his hand on my bare knee and asked, "Now, what else do you want?"

Dang-it, I wish I could remember your real name Dr. Jack!

I eventually got into see my usual doctor who prescribed Yaz for my acne. The results have been meh. Still, it's better than before.

What has worked to clear-up my skin, and reduce signs of aging, has been Photoshop. Photoshop has come through for me where God and medical science have failed. And I got thinking about Dr. Jack, and my acne, and now my wrinkles, when I designed the new banner for this site. Since, my skin doesn't look anything like what you see on this banner. For starters, my real-life skin doesn’t look dead. 

 I may even give myself a Photoshopped boob job for bikini season!


Meredith Groenevelt


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