I started reading about Dupixent and ended up staring at my own red hands

Staring at my hands and thinking about clinical trials

I was looking at some industry news the other day about a drug called Dupixent. It seems like it’s getting approved for all these new things now—not just atopic dermatitis, but also stuff like chronic hives and these complicated blistering conditions. I spent way too long reading about 30 trillion won markets and ‘therapeutic options’ for people who don’t respond to antihistamines. It’s funny how clinical, detached language makes you feel almost hopeful until you realize the barrier to entry for these treatments is astronomically high, both in terms of cost and the sheer severity of the conditions they are meant for. I looked down at my own hands, which have been dealing with some persistent eczema on the fingers for months, and realized that my reality is nowhere near the scale of these massive pharmaceutical breakthroughs. I’m just sitting here in my living room, wondering if I should try that herbal ointment I bought at a local clinic again.

The cycle of trying things that sort of work

My hand eczema has this annoying habit of receding when I’m careful and then coming back with a vengeance the second I get stressed or, heaven forbid, wash dishes without gloves. I’ve gone to a few places, including a local oriental medicine clinic in Mokpo, where they told me it was all about ‘constitutional improvement.’ They said if I fix my internal body functions, the skin would just naturally follow suit. It sounds logical when you’re sitting in the office listening to someone who sounds confident, but in practice, ‘fixing my internal constitution’ feels vague and endless. I tried their herbal tea and the Jaungo ointment for a few weeks. It cost me maybe 150,000 won for the consultation and the supply of medicine. For a while, the itching calmed down. Or maybe I just stopped thinking about it as much? It’s hard to tell if the redness actually went away or if I just got used to seeing my fingers in a certain state.

Why the simple stuff feels so complicated

There’s this weird frustration when you have something minor, like localized skin dryness or itchy patches, and you see ads for heavy-duty biologics like Dupixent. It makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong by just using drugstore creams or trying to wait it out. I’ve started getting these weird red patches on my forehead whenever the sun hits me a bit too hard—maybe it’s sun allergy, maybe it’s just general inflammation. It’s not enough to justify a specialist, yet it’s enough to make me feel self-conscious when I’m talking to someone. I keep thinking, do I really need to overhaul my entire life and body chemistry like the clinics suggest, or am I just not patient enough with the basics?

When doing nothing starts to look like a strategy

Sometimes, I wonder if the best treatment is just to stop buying things. I’ve accumulated a shelf full of half-used jars and tubes that cost anywhere from 10,000 to 30,000 won each. They all promised to soothe, calm, or repair the skin barrier. Half of them smell like herbs, and the other half smell like sterile plastic. When I have a flare-up, I reach for one, realize it doesn’t work instantly, and then switch to another. It’s a ridiculous cycle. Yesterday, I just washed my face with cool water and decided not to put anything on it. My skin felt tight and a bit dry for an hour, but it didn’t get any redder. Maybe the obsession with ‘treating’ the symptoms is actually part of the problem.

The lingering uncertainty of it all

I’m still not sure where the line is between ‘annoying skin issue’ and ‘something that actually needs a medical intervention.’ Everyone tells you to listen to your body, but my body just seems to be complaining about everything lately. Whether it’s the dryness in the air or the stress of the day, my scalp acts up, my fingers get itchy, and my face turns red. I’m not at the stage where I need a drug that requires an injection every few weeks, but I’m also tired of the trial-and-error at the pharmacy counter. I’ll probably finish the jar of ointment I have left, just because I don’t like throwing away money, even if I’m pretty sure it’s not doing much of anything. It’s a strange place to be—not sick enough for the big solutions, but too irritated to ignore it.