The worst blemish I ever had was in my freshman year in
college. It was an odd confluence
of dermatological disasters that somehow came together at the exact same time,
a Pimple Perfect Storm if you will.
On the left side of my nose sprouted a zit. I recall it being especially painful, really attention
getting. This was similar to the old seafarer’s adage of “red skies at morning,
sailors take warning”. There was a
storm brewing under my skin, and I was going along for the ride.
By mid afternoon of that day, the entire tip of my nose had
begun to turn red. I was like a
pointy nosed W.C. Fields, or a small time Bozo. Come to think of it, I was almost like Rudolf. If there had been a coach standing
around with a whistle and clipboard, he most certainly would have said, “And we
won’t let him play any reindeer games!”.
This would have been accurate, as I began to feel very
self-conscious. The last thing I
wanted to do was play reindeer games.
I just wanted this thing to go away. The bad news was that it was Tuesday, and I would have
several days of intermingling with the fellow student population.
By the time dinner rolled around, my very empathetic and
soft-spoken roommate noticed me from across the room upon getting back from
class. “Jesus! You’ve got a real monster crawling up
your nose!” He was sort of like
that character Stiffler in the American Pie movies, but even less
sensitive. We both went to our
bathroom to take a closer look at the situation under the harsh light of a dorm
bathroom sink. I will admit great
concern by this point, not so much because he had noticed this growing blemish
from across an entire room and felt compelled to scream out. No, the real concern I had was that the
pain level was actually ratcheting up.
By this point, the entire left side of my face sort of hurt with the
nose almost impossible to touch.
Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the situation was
not really one zit forming at the bridge of my nostril, but three very large
zits that were somehow merging into one sort of SuperZit. Each of them on their own were to be
feared. To think that they might
all actually merge into one was beyond comprehension. Though they had not yet quite merged yet, three individual
red mounds could be noticed upon the overall surface of the overall swelling
and redness of the general area.
As various members of the dorm sifted though, almost everyone could
agree that they had never seen anything like it. It was akin to being a circus oddity. “Jim! Jim! Get over
here! You gotta take a look at
this!” It was really more of a
boil than anything else that could hoped to be combated by creams from a
pharmacy. It was really bad.
When a problem of this magnitude rears its ugly head, you
can count on everyone to weigh in.
Opinion was split. Some
suggested radical amateur surgery.
Get in there and lance that thing man! Others were more pragmatic. You gotta wait it out dude. It’s not time yet.
While this was a curiosity to all, it was a Level 3 Trauma for me. I was becoming increasingly concerned
that I would become known on campus for the next four years as “That Zit
Guy”. I quickly played out
scenarios in my head involving getting my transcripts and attempting to gain
admission to the University of Alaska to hide my shame. In the end, I took a cautionary
approach. No need to freak out
now. Maybe the whole thing would
subside by morning. I went to
sleep hoping that the magic of a new day would offer a cure.
When morning came, all was lost. The threat of the SuperZit had been fully realized. It was something that was about the
size of a dime. It must have
protruded out a quarter inch. If
it opened and an eyeball started to look out, it would not have surprised
me. I was stunned. It was like waking up and discovering
you had a Siamese Twin squirming out of your face. I decided to get in there and attempt to pop the damn
thing. It was a failure. It wasn’t “ready”. All it did was anger The Beast. It now achieved a deep red color and
almost throbbed. It was a zit that
could truly be called “angry”.
I had a class that morning with mandatory attendance. As I recall it was an entry-level
English class, something I could have passed in my sleep. However, if you missed just two classes
over the semester, they would flunk you and you would be doomed to repeat it
with various flunkies in some sort of remedial version of the class. I would have to spend 13 weeks with
people that could barely read just because I was too freaked out to walk around
with a major deformity. I can do
this. I had to do this. I will do this. Bottom line? I had to go.
I decided the best course of action would be to sit far left
by the window, minimizing the exposure of The Boil to the others in the
class. If I maintained a rigid
posture and faced forward like an Army cadet, perhaps no one would notice. The key would be to get there before
anyone else and never move my head.
I tried to rationalize my way through it as well, thinking, “It’s only
you. You just think it’s
huge. It’s not that big.” I then took a last glance at myself in
the mirror before walking out of my room and almost recoiled in horror. It was, in fact, much worse than I had
thought previously.
Of course on my walk to class I ran into every single person
I knew or wanted to know on the campus.
I felt like The Elephant Man walking to class. “Do not look at me!
I am a monster! A Monster!” My technique of wearing a baseball hat
to help draw attention away from this boil did not appear to be very effective
as I could see people’s eyes stray to the nose, their expressions betraying
their true feelings. “Good
God. That is so gross. Thank God it’s not me.” It was as if it was written on all
their faces. I should have worn a
wrestling mask. Then I would have
been “the wacky guy” instead of “the gross guy”.
I was shaky by the time I reached class. Sweat poured down my pits. I sat in the third seat back on the far
left. I hoped to sit there, and
later wait everyone out after it was over until I exited the room, alone in my
shame. It would have worked
perfectly if I had not written such an excellent paper for the last assignment. For the first time ever, a student
would read their work in front of the gathered students. I would be that student. It was a disaster. If I didn’t know better, I would think
the instructor was fucking with me.
Maybe she just wanted a closer look at what was going on under that
baseball hat. Who knows for sure,
but my cover was blown. I remember
walking up there in front of everyone.
The boil glowed proudly, daring someone to touch it or gaze directly at
it. It was like a skin disease
medusa. To gaze upon it with your
naked eye was to flirt with the Will of the Gods. You could have just as easily stared at the sun for an
hour. I started to read. After that, it’s all just sort of a
blank. I retreated home to my
cavern of shame afterwards.
It took two more long days to turn the tide. There were many false alarms in trying
to get this thing under control.
Medicated creams were a joke.
Touching it even slightly only got it angrier. It had to be approached with respect. It wasn’t until the next day that I was
able to gain the necessary traction on the situation. I applied enough pressure and suddenly a massive amount of
pus and blood shot from the side of my nose with a “Thook!!!!”. The mirror looked like it had been hit
with a forkful of mashed potatoes.
I swear I could hear a “hisssssssss” as the pressure released from the
side of my head. I had begun the
long path to recovery. It took
weeks before I was whole again.
Even now the mental scars have not fully healed.
Today I saw a kid who was about my age at that time with a
horrible blemish on his forehead.
I could tell how self-conscious he was. That’s what being 18 is all about, isn’t it? I almost stopped him and said, “Hey,
I’ve been there.” but I didn’t.
This was his journey. It
was his road to take alone. Only
he would know the pain and ultimately the satisfaction when that thing
eventually burst. Only then would
he have a blemish to judge all others by.
What I had to offer him were only words. He needed something more tangible. Something like a class schedule with optional
attendance.
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