When skincare is skinharm, or treating the wrong condition

A few weeks ago, getting a health check courtesy of my company, amid the chat about pregnancy and hormones, I asked the doctor about my patchy skin- little white blotches that get worse in summer as they never tan. I thought they were acne scars, but no- it was worse. Tinea versicolour- an affliction that affects the immunocompressed, usually in tropical climates. It’s hard to shift apparently.

I wasn’t totally surprised. I’ve been a walking mushroom since doctors wiped out my natural flora for a skin condition that they wrongly diagnosed (after my teen years, my acne was fungal, not bacterial) and for which I’ve suffered (not just the condition, but the after effects of the treatment) for my entire adult life.

Bread, yeast and booze flair me up and make me itch despite numerous anti Candida diets and a regime that revolves around brewing concoctions of kefir and kombucha whose cultures have lasted longer than most of my friendships.

But how far can you blame doctors for creating bigger problems when treating something else? I’ve looked at whether I could sue for antibiotic misuse by there’s no precedent.And guess what? It turns out I’ve been doing everything wrong too.

In an effort to calm my unpredictable skin I have a wardrobe full of unguents, lotions and creams, most of them with natural ingredients and oils that I felt to be better for me that synthetics, with which I have been hopelessly and expensively treating a range of conditions, and which I slather on in the hope, less than the proof, that they might one day day effect. But then I found this eye opening article about skin conditions caused by malessezia yeast when researching tinea versicolour, and realised, like so much in life, that I’ve been doing it all wrong.

Apparently malessezia yeast -the culprit of not only my blotchy skin, but likely my jaw line acne, various eczema type rashes and itchy scalp, hair loss and other horrors – thrives on essential fatty oils like those found in natural oils like olive, sunflower, coconut (which I used to death for it’s supposedly anti fungal properties) and just about everything I’ve been using to “cure” my poor itchy unhappy skin.

The bitch is, this yeast is really hard to get rid of, and was almost certainly caused by me (and various GPS and dermatologists) trying to treat teenage acne in the first place.

Breathing yet another sigh of deep, frustrated resignation, I cleared my shelf of expensive creams bought 3 for 2 at Holland and Barrett and resigned myself to a new regime. Fresh aloe Vera out of an actual plant and mineral makeup and NOTHING ELSE. Except a brand new factor 50 sunscreen which I bought on Amazon (needs must) from the list of products given in the article that don’t contain malessezia-encouraging ingredients, plus a sulphur soap that I hope will kick these beasties into submission once and for all.

Luckily, because I’m pregnant (did I mention that already?) my skin has actually settled down, except for the blotchiness, and my biggest beauty concerns atm are actually frown lines (I caved to Botox before realising I was pregnant) and hair loss-both of which I’d put down to aging, not the pro-inflammatory nature of the condition I actually have.

But like so much in life, it just makes me angry that this simple fix (mineral oil and cheaper synthetic oils are fine, apparently, and won’t cause problems) is such a well kept secret that even most doctors don’t know the harm they cause. It’s hard now to find a beauty product that doesn’t contain a now banned ingredient but it turns out I’d have been better off cleaning my face with baby oil for the past ten years, than the pricey Rose Otto oil I’ve been lubricating my face with whenever I can afford it.

Oh well, at least now, with a new baby and a whole new paranoia about passing on my fucked up facial flora (it’s non contagious, apparently, but Ava’s sure as hell got some weird yeasty rash on her back) at least my newly pared down skin care will be simple. But then, as I know deep down where my skin’s concerned, nothing ever really is.

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