As I'm sat in the waiting room for the lab tech to call my name, the first dose of Skyrizi chilled between three ice bottles in a lunch box to my left. It’s never certain how long you’ll have to wait for a blood draw, so I did not want to take it off ice too soon.

My name is called, and a man walks quickly to the door, followed by me approaching a very confused phlebotomist. I say my name, he says his. The same. What are the odds? She asks for our last names and confirms that she was calling me. She draws my blood as we laugh at the situation. I told him good bye on my way out, and he says, “nice name!” You too, sir.

This morning was extremely bad. I woke up puffy and crusty, eyeing the trigger that could give me real relief. Alas, I continue.

I rarely cry about this. There have been far too many triggers for my tears, and now I at least know what is causing my skin to betray the youthful genes I was lucky enough to have until now.