The examination room is small and brightly lit.
The dermatologist enters, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile but an air of efficiency.
“Tell me about the problem,” she says, settling into her seat.
I explain, trying to keep my voice steady, though the frustration leaks through.
She listens, nodding, and I feel a flicker of hope that she’s truly hearing me.
She examines my nails with careful attention, asking questions that no one else had bothered to.
“It’s definitely more than just dryness,” she says finally, her words a relief and a worry all at once.
“We’ll need to do some tests to be sure, but I suspect it might be a more systemic issue.”
Her words confirm my fears, yet there’s a strange comfort in finally having someone acknowledge that it’s not just in my head.
As she outlines the next steps, I nod, trying to absorb the information.
