Every prayer, every breath into a dandelion, every 11:11 when I glanced at a clock, and every candle on a birthday cake carried the same wish since I was diagnosed with severe eczema and numerous allergies. I wished that my skin would heal and that my allergies would magically go away. I was fortunate enough to outgrow many of my allergies over time, but nuts, fish, and shellfish remained. As a young girl who watched far too many Disney movies for her own good, I thought that if I wished hard enough, I might wake up one morning with smooth skin and no reason to be afraid of what was in my food.
There were countless nights when it seemed like the fiery itch would never end, and my lola —grandmother in Tagalog—would stay beside me until my skin finally calmed down. My eczema would cause my skin to be so dry that bending my arms or legs would be extremely painful, and even something as simple as showering or washing my hands would feel like burning. When I was younger, my mom would wash my hair separately over the bathtub to minimize my time in contact with water. Then, we would quickly wash my body in the shower before applying my various prescribed ointments and moisturizers. Beach baths also became part of my routine, which was a mixture of household bleach diluted with water. While these treatments sounded extreme to others, they were actually something that I looked forward to because of the fact that I was able to play and relax with my favorite toys without pain.
Playing painlessly in my childhood was not always the case, however. In my elementary school days, I would stop myself from going outside when the sun was too hot because I knew the heat and sweat would irritate my skin. I also avoided playing in the grass because it would make it unbearably itchy. While other children on the school grounds could run around the school grounds without a second thought, I was calculating the consequences.
Food is an important part of my Filipino culture and heritage, especially because it is one of the ways that my family shows love. Even if my mother very clearly explained my allergies, relatives did not always understand what avoiding an allergen actually meant. Peanut butter or fish sauce would sometimes appear in foods I had been told were safe, causing countless allergic reactions over the years. I knew that no one was trying to hurt me directly, but other people’s good intentions did not make a reaction any less frightening. At a family event, there are times when I have to politely decline and refrain from eating what titos and titas —aunts and uncles in Tagalog— offer me, simply because I am afraid of having an allergic reaction. Instead, I will eat my safe foods, which will commonly include pork sinigang, an acidic, comforting soup, or lumpia shanghai , a fried egg roll paired with a delicious sweet and sour sauce.
Traveling requires the same amount of caution as food. Whenever my family stayed in hotels, we packed extra sheets because we did not know what laundry detergent had been used on the bedding and if it would irritate my skin. I also carried my medications, ointments, and everything else I may need if my eczema flared or I had an allergic reaction. Going to the beach was particularly heartbreaking because I couldn’t swim in the ocean water. The salt would sting my skin, and I wouldn’t be able to spend time with my three older brothers. However, I am extremely grateful for them because they would make constant trips back and forth from the ocean to the place where my family set up camp to grab buckets of water for my sandcastles and bring me various kinds of seashells to decorate the exterior walls of my castle.
Because of the constant preparation of bringing my EpiPen, medications, ointments, and creams everywhere, I learned a sense of responsibility. I learned to think ahead, keep track of what I needed, and prepare for possible emergencies through my eczema and allergies.
Eventually, this habit stuck with me beyond my own health journey. I became the friend everyone depended on; the friend who had extra pens and pencils at school and the friend with extra hairspray for the perfect ballet bun. Before, I used to feel high-maintenance and a burden to my family; now it feels like my way of caring for other people.
Everything began to change during my freshman year of high school, when my dermatologist recommended Dupixent. Dupixent (Dupilumab) is a subcutaneous injection that blocks certain proteins that control inflammation. In the beginning, the idea of pushing a needle into my own skin felt impossible. Before I came up with a routine to complete my injection, my mom would literally wait two hours for me as I squeamishly brought up the courage to do it. As time went on, I created a routine and checklist to make me as comfortable as possible: a comfy sofa or bed, two pieces of gum to distract my brain, lidocaine to numb the injection site, a timer, and a stuffed animal to squeeze. I also make sure to leave out my Dupixent at least an hour before the actual time to inject so that the medication can come to room temperature and become thinner in viscosity. Although the concept of Dupixent sounded daunting and it still requires me days to become mentally ready for my injection, I am extremely grateful for it because it has improved my quality of life like nothing I have ever tried before - no more sleepless nights, no more overweight suitcases with extra sheets, and no more fear of trying new foods.
Another radical change during my freshman year of high school happened during my competitive high school dance team’s hip hop rehearsal. I felt a notification buzz from my watch.
It read, “Congratulations! You have been accepted into The Rock School for Dance Educa-”. (The text ended there because of the tiny screen of my watch.) Receiving this scholarship to leave home to continue my ballet training and academic studies in Philadelphia was gratifying, but there were too many unknowns. Constant questions filled my head, each one appearing before I could answer the last. What if I wasn’t ready? What if I have an allergic reaction? What if moving across the United States was a mistake? My parents had to trust in my responsibility not only to manage my medications, reactions, flare-ups, and food, but also to continue in my academic career, do my own laundry, among many other things. Although my year at the Rock School for Dance in Philadelphia, PA, was short, I experienced immense growth in my health journey and my personal journey.
Throughout my life, I measured improvement by what disappeared: fewer allergic reactions, fewer sleepless nights, and fewer patches of dried skin. Now, when I look down at my skin, I see pale patches where my eczema scarred my tan mestiza skin. I used to wish my scars would disappear, but I no longer feel that way. My scars remind me of my lola sitting beside me at night, who has since passed away, my mom washing my hair over the bathtub because water burned my skin, bleach baths, hidden allergens, overpacking for a trip, Dupixent—and the courage it took to give myself my own injections. My scars used to feel like evidence of what was wrong with me or a visual representation of the burden that I place on people, but now they feel like a walking visual representation of all the experiences that I have gone through. Living with severe eczema and food allergies taught me independence, responsibility, how to advocate for myself, and that courage is not always dramatic. Courage can be moments of triple-checking if something has an allergen when you are embarrassed to ask again, overpreparing for a situation, or doing your own injection because you know it will help you move forward.