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The first spots appeared on my knees when I was about 11. Milky white and almost completely round, they were mirror images of each other. Their appearance was sudden and the reasons unknown.
At about the same time, a spot of grey hair appeared on the back of my head. A doctor seemed perplexed but unconcerned and diagnosed it as psoriasis. The spots and the grey hair remained untreated and uncovered.
The grey hair, in particular, made me a target at school. Classmates pointed out the patch. Granny Grey Head was one name I got. No 11-year-old has to deal with grey hair.
I could do nothing about the spots but tried (badly) to cover them with makeup that only turned them pinker than the rest of my skin.
The hair was more of a concern. I begged to dye it. My parents refused. I was too young, they said.
Three years after the grey hair appeared, I dyed it for the first time. But it was too late. The stigma of being a grey-haired teen stuck.
More spots started to appear. On my hip bones, a small one right in my navel and a larger spot that looked like a bib around my neck and chest.
This was the 1980s when deep tans were all the rage and sun worshippers went to great lengths to achieve a sunkissed glow.
While my friends slathered themselves in baby oil and took to the roofs of their homes where the black shingles would attract the hot rays of sun, I looked for ways to cover up the spots, usually messily and unsuccessfully. I could tan, but it made the spots more visible because they didn't change colour. I continued to dye my hair.
At 18, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism, a condition in which the thyroid gland doesn't produce enough thyroid hormones. The spots and grey hair turned out to be the result of vitiligo.
It's the skin condition Michael Jackson had and the reason people thought he was turning himself white. While the cause of vitiligo is not known, those with hypothyroidism can be at higher risk. As my doctor explained, my thyroid gave off antibodies that mistook my pigment cells for bad cells and destroyed them.
Vitiligo doesn't cause any physical issues, but the damage is often psychological and stressful. I remember thinking there was nothing I could do from stopping the spread of the white spots. And the condition is not contagious.
In my research, I learned there is virtually no way to replace the pigment. Treatment means removing the remainder of the pigment to even out the skin tone. Those with vitiligo should stay out of the sun. I still can burn, but I will also blister. While I love the beach, I don't go without a sunscreen of 60 SPF.
In my early 20s, the spots continued to my hands. Because those spots were the most visible, they were the worst. Unless you always wear gloves, you can't hide your hands. You use them daily in your interactions with others. People notice and are curious or fearful if your hands don't look normal.
I started avoiding the sun completely as the spots took over. My hands became completely white, like gloves of white skin. They spread up my arms and the spots on the knees continued to spread, too. I have universal vitiligo in which about 80 per cent of the pigment is destroyed.
But I've learned to accept and even find some blessings in the giant white spots. Because I avoided the sun, my skin is almost free of wrinkles, except those laugh lines, which I had fun earning.
Maybe I won't get age spots because I have virtually no pigment. I discovered moisturizers with a hint of sunless tan that give me a fair glow.
The grey hair continues to appear, but these ones, I think, are from age and stress. I still dye it because it's terribly patchy.
One day I will be brave enough to let it go natural. But if people notice it, I don't care.
You learn things about people when you have a condition that makes you appear abnormal. Some people are curious. A few thought the spots, especially those on my hands, were a burn or birth marks. Some people, adults and children alike, are simply mean. Still, others think such a condition doesn't exist, even if you show them the spots as proof.
I see people with the same condition and immediately recognize its patterns: the symmetrical milky spots. But because my condition kept eating away at my pigment, I no longer stand out.
So, while I share a condition, I can no longer understand how they feel about its effects. People rudely point out how pale I am and how I need some sun, but I know for those with the obvious spots, the remarks are far crueler.
Recently, I saw a young girl at the playground at my daughter's school who had vitiligo. She had the same spots on her knees and the shock of white hair I had at her age.
When I saw her, I wished for her that people would be kind, her family and friends supportive and that others understand her condition well. And mostly, I hoped she'd learn to love the skin she's in.
Suzanne Rent lives in Halifax, N.S.