DiagnosisDecember 20, 2006
Last week, something strange happened to me. Lala noticed it first, I didn’t. She asked, one evening, “Are your hands blue?
No, of course they weren’t, I said.
Only, hey, check it out, when I really looked at them and quit telling her that I had blue undertones to my skin naturally, it kinda DID kind of look like my hands were blue. I felt fine. A little cold, but it was cold in the house. My hands didn’t hurt, weren’t tingling. They were just blue.
I did a little online research, only a bit, I swear, because I know that madness lives at the end of that road, and decided it was nothing to worry about if it didn’t happen again.
But then Sunday night, Lala noticed it again. “Your hands! Are blue!”
“Are they?” I wasn’t convinced, but they got rapidly bluer as the night wore on. A friend came over and told me my hands looked as if they had been dyed. Both Lala and she were worried, and they started me worrying a bit. My hands were SO blue. Grey-blue, that moldy-blue look that skin gets when there’s not enough oxygen going through it.
And I felt fine. Completely fine. Again, quite cold, but dude, the house is cold and I’ve been really tired, which makes my susceptibility to chills that much greater.
So I got in
the tub to warm up.
After a while in the hot water, I’d warmed up. I put the book down and planned on just lying there for a while, but I glanced down at my legs poking out of the bubbles.
My thighs were blue. I called Lala in and she confirmed: my legs were that ashen grey-blue all the way down to my sock line, below which my feet were happy and warm and pink.
What the hell?
And you know what? It still took me a few minutes to figure out.
Then it clicked. I started scrubbing my legs and hands. I HAD washed my hands before this, of course, but now I scrubbed them with all my might. The bubbles turned blue. My skin went pink.
New jeans, from Gap. That I’d worn twice without washing first, the first time a week ago and then again on Sunday night, when our friend had been over. I’d been standing in the kitchen talking with her, my hands shoved into my back pocket, my hands getting bluer and bluer as the night and the dye wore on.
Best diagnosis ever.