It happened two weeks ago on a Tuesday, June 23rd. I was at the dentist, in the chair, getting a temporary crown on a broken molar. I used no numbing, because I don’t like how it makes my face feel after it is all over. I felt a bit of pain, but not much, not in my tooth. I was pinching the skin between my thumb and pointer finger to distract me. It worked. While in the chair, my phone rang. I could not answer it, of course. I checked out and was told to come back July 23 for the “install” of my permanent crown.
I went out to the car and checked my phone. It was a call from Galax Dermatology. I called them back and was told they had a cancellation at 3:50 that afternoon and asked if I could make it. I said with great enthusiasm, “Yes! I can.“
I could hardly believe it. I called them the afternoon before to check on a referral from my primary care physician and was told they had responded with an appointment time in late August. Man, that is a long way off, I thought. Would I like to be on the cancellation list? I said yes.
That morning I had a long phone conversation with my Dad. We talked about several things, including his 98th birthday coming up soon, how he is doing without my Mom, who passed away a year ago, my sisters Kam and Penni, and whether he gets out at all or spends a lot of time by himself.
Our conversation always manages to turn to me and my chronic condition, which I have had for the last year. I suffered from extreme Eczema, or psoriasis, which sometimes morphed into cellulitis. That happened twice in the last two months, which required a trip to the Emergency room both times. Once with my leg swelling up and oozing, and once with a low-grade fever. Both times, I was put on an intravenous antibiotic for a few hours along with a steroid shot. The last time, my visit included a chest X-ray and a urine analysis in addition to the routine blood work to make sure I was not septic.
This all started in May 2025, when I volunteered to help clear a long stretch of the Blue Ridge Parkway of downed trees and limbs from a major ice storm earlier that winter. The BRP was a mess for months; cleaning crews with chainsaws and chippers started from both ends of the parkway, with the crew I was on somewhere in the middle. We worked ourselves silly for over a week, dragging limbs and various tree parts off the parkway and out of the mowing zone on both sides of the road to be cut up and chipped, or if too large for us guys to drag down to the road, it would be pushed back into the woods with a Bobcat.
We were on a deadline. We needed to repair this section of the Blue Ridge Parkway so that the Blue Ridge Music Center could open for the season. The whole area depended on this beautiful road to attract tourists, and the concerts at the BRMC are a big part of that draw. We would get it open no matter what; that is what I told myself anyway. That “no matter what” would cost me.
Two of us were on a steep slope wrestling a large downed tree out of the fork of a standing tree. We pulled hard; it came out and knocked me backwards and off my feet. I rolled down a log that was on the slope. I cut my left arm open and my right leg, as I found out later. I stood up slowly, examined my wounds, which did not look all that serious. I walked to my car, pulled my first-aid kit out of the back, and doctored my wounds. I didn’t think too much of the damage until my co-worker told me the log was covered with dead poison ivy. I looked, and sure enough, it had very thick, hairy vines all over it. Yikes. I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, so I figured I was protected and okay.
At the end of the day, I took my sore body home and jumped into the hot tub. It felt great. It was a huge mistake. My clothes were covered with Urushiol, the poisonous oil that is on poison ivy, whether it is dead or alive. I should have gone straight home, jumped into the shower fully clothed, turned on the cold water, and rinsed off completely. Undressed in the shower and washed with Castille soap or oily soap to remove the poison ivy oil. I didn’t do that. I got into 100-degree water with open wounds and open pores, and that nasty oil invaded my skin. A few days later, I was a mess of blisters. My arms and both legs were covered.
I went back to work the next day. We finished the cleanup on time.
You can imagine what happened next: the itch began, and it got worse as time went on. I was miserable, so I made an appointment to see my physician. She took a close look, gave me a steroid shot in my hip, and prescribed a steroid cream to help me. She said to put this on and cover my arms in plastic wrap, which would help my skin absorb it.
It may have done that, but it didn’t help me much. My arms turned very red. My leg became red and scaly. It spread to my fingers and my side. The itch got worse; it kept me awake at night. I started popping Benadryl gels three to four times a day.
After weeks of this misery, it was decided that I would go to Wytheville to visit a dermatology practice. They determined that the poison ivy infection had changed to trauma-induced psoriasis, which they later said was eczema. They prescribed a stronger steroid ointment and a couple of shots of Dupixent, a very expensive biologic. I did not know how expensive. The loading shots, which were administered like an EpiPen, were free. I actually gave myself one of the two shots in my thigh. Hit the thigh hard, push a button; it hisses while the contents are injected into the leg.
About ten days later, my condition had greatly improved. Unfortunately, I would need two follow-up shots a month. The cost to me if I did not have insurance is a whopping 4800 dollars a month. My insurance company would cover all the cost except for 1750 dollars. I was not about to spend that; I didn’t think I would need it for my skin condition, whether it was Poison Ivy, Eczema, or Plaque Psoriasis. I have a yearly out-of-pocket of 2000 dollars a year, so I would pay 2000 dollars, then the balance of the treatment would be covered. No thanks, still too much money for a retired guy to pay. Besides, I was fine. Then I learned about the side effects of this biologic, which is not a drug in the normal sense. It can cause eyesight problems and other things, but the worst is that it may cause T-cell Lymphoma. A really big NO THANKS!
About two weeks later, it all started to return. Weird-looking round patches started showing up on me in various places, not my face, but my arms first, then my legs, then my side, and these places grew bigger until my arms were one solid red from my elbows to my hands. The redder they got, the more pain they caused. It was worse than ever. I became distressed and depressed. I could not sleep, sit still, or think about much of anything except how to get rid of this blasted itch. I took many Benadryl tablets; I looked for creams and ointments and probiotics to help my skin. I spent a lot of money. Some of these treatments would help for a short while. Some things would not help at all. I complained, I yelled, and I prayed all three to God.
My eczema would fade a bit at times, then I would work in the yard on a hot, sweaty day and it would flare up. Eczema sufferers use the word flare a lot. I managed to put aside my discomfort at certain times, like during fiddler convention season. I had to give Diane as much attention and help as I could. She had a mission: to win all five of the conventions in this area, Mt. Airey, Elk Creek, Sparta, Galax, and Fries. She practiced her dulcimer, and I took refuge in my office; actually, I gave her refuge from me and my crazy itch.
She won first place at all five. I won second place with my washboard at the “other instrument category at Fries.”
Then the winter came. The cold was easier to handle, and there was Christmas to think about.
This spring was not so easy on me. None of my “remedies” offered much help except for one from Mule Hell, a lotion concocted from shea butter, jewelweed, and calamine. It can stop an itch dead when I could buy it. Jewelweed, also known as Touch-me-not, grows in the summer and when a supply runs out, then one has to live without it.
I lived without many things the past six months, without many good nights’ sleep, without a hot shower because it aggravates my skin, without wearing shorts or short-sleeved shirts, but that is enough of the bad news.
I wanted to tell my back story before I write about what happened two weeks ago.
The Tuesday Morning I talked to my Dad, he told me he had contacted a husband and wife, old friends of his from the church he went to in Virginia Beach. They are praying people, and they told Dad they would contact friends of theirs and get a prayer chain working for me. Which they did. Tuesday morning, Dad got a call from one of those friends, and he told Dad this:
“You tell Derrick that something good, a miracle, is going to happen today, something that tells me he is about to be much better.”
That afternoon is when I received the call that I could see Galax Dermatology, a practice that I was told by someone in the know that they were not taking any new patients.
They took me.
Diane went with me. The good doctor looked me over, including my very red arms and my very red and very flaky right shin. She told me to quit using whatever I was using to treat my condition. She prescribed just what she wanted me to do. She also took a biopsy of my upper arm so we would know just what we were dealing with. She seemed surprised that it had not been done already. It would take about a week to get the results.
I had no problem following Dr Wilson’s precise instructions. I purchased what she told me to get and have been using it ever since, and will do so until told otherwise by her.
The appointment gave me hope. Hope that God forgave me for being so angry at times, so depressed, which is anger turned inward, and I began to think my prayer for this incurable condition to end might be happening.
I went home and called my Dad and told him to let his prayer group know that getting this appointment was an answer to prayer. He said he ws glad to hear it.
For two days I used the steroid prescription, which I had used before, and it did not help with anything but the itch that Dr Wilson prescribed, and the Vaseline moisturizer. That I had not used before. I knew from experience that this would be a long process.
Wednesday morning there was no real change to my eyes, but I did not itch.
Thursday morning, the same
Friday morning, after a great night’s sleep, the best in weeks, I woke up, and there was nothing. I mean nothing but a faint pink color on my arms and legs. No red, no flaky skin, no itch.
It was gone; I had been healed. There is no other explanation.
It has been two weeks. The pink tint is fading, and I don’t care if it doesn’t go away. I want the reminder of what it looked like before.
As one of my friends said when she saw me last Thursday, and she saw me while I was on one of my trips to the ER also.
She said, “PRAISE THE LORD, MIRACLES DO HAPPEN!”
No matter what people believe or don’t believe, they still happen.
Derrick