The joys of a broken immune system

Hello there, Body. I know you love to fight. You love it so much, in fact, that you keep attacking the poor little cells in our pancreas so I can’t make insulin anymore. I’m not really happy about it, but after 20 years, I’ve pretty much come to terms with it. But now you’re just being difficult. I found those funny white patches you left on the crook of my arm. Really, Body? You’re on the warpath against our melanin content now? Big Spoon put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s jealous of my dark skin so he told you to enter on this lame and pointless side-quest to make me look like a cheetah. Not cool, Body. Not cool at all. You won’t let me make insulin (and I’ve yelled at you quite a bit about how tough you’re making it for the doctor to approve me for mommyhood), you make me too tired to workout (and refuse to let me lose weight unless I manage to thwart you and run anyway), and now you won’t even let my skin stay all the same color. You may be evil, Body. What a shame that you hold all the power (and the organs…which you keep trying to break).

cheetah spots? sounds exotic. :wink:

stay strong!