Watching the movie, I kept thinking of a patient I met in medical school. She was a constant presence in the dermatology clinics, and during other clinical rotations, she could often be found in the hospital, admitted for one of her endless bouts of skin infections. She was just a child, perhaps six or seven. But she was the least lovable child you ever could meet. Her skin was always broken out in a large, open sores. She hated to be touched, because it hurt so much. To keep her disease at bay, she had to be lathered liberally with the greasiest ointments imaginable. She always wore grubby clothes because the grease ruined clothing. Her hair was always a mess, all spiked up from the ointments in her scalp. She whined constantly. She threw temper tantrums. She looked and acted the perfect picture of complete misery. In contrast, her sister was the perfect picture of, well, the perfect child - always dressed immaculately, hair in place, obedient, and obviously favored by their mother. It was heartbreaking to watch what that disease was doing to their family, despite their best efforts.
While watching the movie, I kept wondering what ever became of her. Did she outgrow her disease? And if so, was she able to outgrow its devastating impact on her formative years? I hope so, but I fear not. Real life isn't as easily overcome as Hollywood would have us believe.
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