Last summer, I got my fillers removed.
Not the gel type, of course. I would never threaten my mast cells like that.
After nine years of prednisone, I successfully tapered off and watch my face deflate. Corticosteroids don’t just cause appearance changes with dreadful names like “moon face” and “buffalo hump;” the redistribution of fat, particularly around joints, can be painful. Although my skin lost its prednisone glow, I was thrilled I could slip my arms into clothes and bend my knees without discomfort.
One of the very few perks of mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS) can be looking younger. Overactive mast cells can plump tissue, boost circulation, and remodel connective tissue, all while training humans to evade sunshine like a vampire. I wrecked my flawless skin no more than two weeks into MCAS remission when I flew to Florida before remembering beach vacations require sunscreen.
For five years, my skin care routine included Benadryl cream and cromolyn squirted into lotion to combat allergic shiners and facial flushing. Now I am using Tretinoin, which literally increases the number of mast cells in the skin, to fight wrinkles and boost collagen. Yes, my mast cells are so stable that I have a prescription to recruit more.
Soon after stopping prednisone, I developed a prominent wrinkle anyway. Rather than feel disappointed, I was perplexed. The wrinkle is on the bridge of nose, a horizontal line between my eyes. Who gets their first wrinkle on their nose?
When my mom informed me it’s called a “bunny line” I dismissed it as some kind of maternal euphemism. So, I Googled it and learned not only is that the terminology, but it can be caused by smelling something repulsive.
DID MCAS GIVE ME A WRINKLE? All this time I’d been holding onto the fact at least my mutated mast cells made me younger, when really, they were engraving my face.
Every time I entered a bathroom with an air freshener.
Every time a coworker entered a meeting wearing perfume (despite being told not to).
Every time laundry fumes wafted over the sidewalk.
Every time I scoured a new room like a blood hound hunting VOCs.
Every scented trash bag and Amazon package.
Every freshly sanitized room.
Maybe wrinkles should merely indicate where the smiles have been, but in my case, they indicate every MCAS ambush I fought to survive. I certainly have earned this wrinkle and I will wear it with pride–mostly because Botox seems like a terrible way to protect my remission.
Or maybe, I’m just overly expressive. And cute as a bunny?
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