Here's a brief diary of one of the more horrible cycles of life:
Day One: There's a tingling feeling on my lip that feels vaguely familiar . . . Oh no. Please don't be a cold sore. Maybe I can think it away. Maybe if I ignore it, it won't happen . . .
Day Two: Dang, I knew it. It's a cold sore. It's in early formation, swollen and tender, and I need to face it with dignity and grace.
Day Three: Maybe this one won't be so bad.
Day Four: It's bad. It's very visible, even with makeup. Maybe prayer will help.
Day Five: Don't want to leave the house. There is an alien on my lower lip.
Day Six: A painful alien that cracks open if I smile, talk, or breathe. It's mutating.
Day Seven: On top of being repulsive, it hurts. Why did God create viruses that severely disfigure human faces?
Day Eight: Everywhere I go, people are looking at my goopy, disgusting lip. I'm grossing myself out.
Day Nine: Is it getting bigger, or smaller?
Day Ten: A little smaller. Need a little less makeup today.
Day Eleven: Almost time to think about breaking this new habit of talking with my hand covering my mouth.
Day Twelve: The horror is fading. The cycle is ending. Until the next outbreak. I never want to do this again: I will take every preventive measure this time. I mean it!
Someone who has never had a cold sore may wonder if I am exaggerating the magnitude of its harrowing effects. Anyone who has suffered through the cold sore cycle, however, knows exactly what I'm saying.
Cold sores, also known as fever blisters, are defined by the Mayo Clinic's website as "fluid-filled lesions caused by herpes simplex virus type 1 infection." I know: nasty things. Hope you're not eating breakfast as you read the paper, because any definition starting with the words "fluid-filled lesions" is pretty nauseating.
The word "herpes" is also a red flag in polite conversation. The genital kind of herpes is actually caused by the type 2 virus, although this is scant consolation to someone plagued with a cold sore.
Although 70 percent of the population worldwide is infected with herpes simplex virus type 1, many people never experience the viciousness of a flare-up. Once the virus is present in the body, it can be triggered by fever, stress, fatigue, menstruation or exposure to the sun: in other words, my so-called life.
Over the years, cold sores have appeared on and around my mouth just in time for job interviews, family photos and holiday gatherings. I developed an unsightly bloom the first (and only) time I ever presented a talk at a conference. My most recent lip explosion has coincided with the stressful wait for an expected layoff letter from my employer, which, mercifully, did not come after all. At least, not this time around.
A lot of people must struggle with the affliction of occasional cold sores, because there is actually a website with the inviting name of 'coldsores.com'. It includes definitions, descriptions, graphs, photos (ick), and a detailed critique of available treatments, both prescription and over-the-counter, as well as ineffective home remedies. I was amazed by how many treatments I had actually tried over the years: topical tea tree oil. Lysine supplements. Ice packs. Anti-viral medication. Every ointment ever marketed. Unfortunately, once a cold sore decides to erupt, there is no instant relief, no magic bullet, no miracle elixir of happiness. It has to run its poisonous course.
The U.S. National Institutes of Health have helpfully named the five stages of the cold sore cycle. They are the Tingling Stage, the Blister Stage, the Weeping Stage, the Scabbing Stage, and the Healing Stage. Just the names induce misery. They are pretty much as described above. But the official stages fail to capture the way a cold sore takes over your life.
Even though you try to reassure yourself that other people aren't really looking at you that closely, that the makeup you spent 20 minutes applying is truly covering the oozing mess, that your life is about far more than the superficial, there is always that one co-worker, family member, or friend who just has to point out the obvious: "Geez. That's some cold sore you got there." And right then, you cancel your evening plans. It's better not to be seen in this state of ugliness. You feel like a Superfund toxic cleanup site. Such is the tyranny of the cold sore.
In the long run, it's a silly vanity: Lord knows, it's not like a cold sore is my lone physical imperfection. But I only have this sense of perspective because I've made it once again to the Healing Stage. I am trying to eat better, get enough sleep, slather my lips with high-SPF lip balm against the sun, de-stress with thoughts of serenity, peace, love and light. My lip is patching itself back together. Repairing my self-esteem may take a few days longer.
These are the opinions of Valerie Schultz, not necessarily those of The Californian. Email her at vschultz22@gmail.com.
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