It creeps up on you. One missed day of vigilant care and the condition takes hold. Days of work fade in a flash like an unsaved term paper in a computer crash. Efff.
Winter arrives. Temperatures drop, wind blows. You left your gloves in your other coat and nestle your hands in pockets for an evening, the situation forgotten. Until you go to brush hair from your face and it feels like a scratchy floor mat touched your cheek. It’s your hand, chapped. Wonderful.
Others might find my solution to extra dry skin amusing. That’s ok, I don’t mind. What I mind is the itchiness. I find I’m sensitive to textures/touch much more than before gaining low vision. So, I don’t hesitate to apply liberal amounts of lotion, tucking my slathered skin into cozy cotton socks like mittens. I marinate overnight if I can stand it, waking up to softness.
It’s a small sacrifice in the wintertime in order to avoid people pulling away who touch my hand, wincing at the rough paw that just exfoliated their skin. No one wants that. Get your sock mittens on.