Hidradenitis Suppurativa: Accounts of a Future Gardener
by Eric Reinhart
Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) is like a poisonous weed that grows in a garden.
As undesirable undergrowth creeps from the soil, abscesses sprout from the skin.
Sinus tracts, like roots, supply the weed with inflammatory sustenance.
A perennial pathogenesis, incessantly recurring to the demise of the gardener.
Scattering seeds from the unwanted foliage imbed into the ground creating a new generation of parasitic plants...from parent to child.
The weed’s poison decays the garden as Hidradenitis Suppurativa deforms smooth skin to scar tissue.
Image source: Unsplash
Accounts of insurmountable pain and unacknowledged disability flooded my ears daily.
Sad eyes stared up at a white-coat-wearing high school student shadowing their relative’s physician, too tired to cry;
Desperately clinging onto hope like a rock climber clutches to a mountainside without chalk.
Between visits, I regained composure in the physician’s office, stared down upon the unblemished white coat I wore;
A renowned symbol for unconditional service.
The immaculate piece of clothing I paid reverence to was reduced to a security blanket swaddling a helpless child.
“Hidradenitis Suppurativa is like a poisonous weed that grows in a garden.”
After an emotionally exhausting day at the office, I came home, escaping the patient’s painful reality.
However, while eating dinner, my relative with severe HS changed positions in the dining chair with a quick grimace.
Something so trivial before.
Something so obvious now.
A quick grimace that acknowledges pain from a sullying disease.
A quick grimace to consciously pretend it’s not there.
The sad eyes I saw before me in the dermatology office now gazed down upon me lovingly to ask about my day.
A painful reality that was theirs. One they could not escape from so conveniently.
A possible future that I could no longer escape from by leaving the office.
Could this be my new reality?
I still ponder this daily as blood travels slowly down my thigh.
Pain from my recurring abscess slowly starts to subside after weeks of silent suffering.
The unavoidable malignant red stares up at me from the floor of the shower.
Red becomes a translucent and harmless pink as the water that hits my shoulders, travels down my body, and fuses with blood.
The water washes away my embarrassment and fear into the shower drain.
Even if I am loving and compassionate, will I be forced to sit in the contents of a seeping wound, pretending nothing happened as I feel the liquid soaking through my clothes?
Even if I am extremely talented at a career, sport, or hobby, will I have to sacrifice my pursuit in order to manage living with constant pain?
Even if I am the perfect partner, will my beloved still love me, wounds and all, or will they see me as an inflammatory disgrace?
Even if I am an unconditionally-loving father, will my child resent me for their developing lesions?
Even if I choose to be a better person everyday, will I still develop Hidradenitis Suppurativa?
Please no...
It’s impossible. The water washed away all of the evidence. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Eric Reinhart is a second-year medical student at the UTCOMLS.
