It was January 16th. A Friday.
Denise had been coming to me for six years.
Sixty-six years old. Thirty-four years behind the counter of a credit union in Toledo, Ohio. The kind of woman who never once called in sick.
Before menopause, she had never had eczema. Not on her hands. Not on her legs. Not once in fifty-one years. Then her periods stopped, and that same winter her shins started to itch, and they have not stopped since.
She walked into my office that afternoon carrying a plastic grocery bag. She put it on my desk and turned it upside down.
Thirty-nine empty tubes, tubs and bottles poured across my papers.
CeraVe. Aveeno Eczema Therapy. Eucerin. Aquaphor. Gold Bond. Vanicream. Cetaphil. Cortizone-10. Three steroid tubes with her name on the pharmacy label: triamcinolone, clobetasol, fluocinonide. Two bottles of hydroxyzine. A Benadryl box. An Elidel sample. The receipt from a Kenalog shot. A menopause gummy. A "hormone-free" night cream with a French name and a $68 price tag.
Thirty-nine products. Fifteen winters. $23,000 by her own count.
She looked at me and said:
"Joanna, last Sunday I was sitting in church and I felt something warm running down my shin. I looked down and there was blood coming through my stockings. The crack I scratched open in my sleep had opened again, the same one that's been opening since November. I'm sitting in a pew in the middle of a sermon pressing a tissue against my leg so nobody sees. I'm sixty-six years old and I'm bleeding through my clothes in church. Don't you dare tell me it's dry skin."
I opened my mouth. And closed it.
Because I had her chart open on the screen in front of me, and I could see what the dermatologist before me had typed in her file, six years earlier, after a visit that lasted four minutes:
"Senile pruritus. Moisturize. Follow up as needed."
Senile. Look that word up.
That is the medical name they give the itch of a woman after menopause. Not a cause. Not a mechanism. An insult, and a tube.
There is no phrase in medicine more quietly terrifying than "we manage it."
Denise didn't have "dry skin." Denise didn't have "senile" anything. Denise had skin that had stopped making its own oil the year her estrogen fell, skin that could no longer hold its water through a warm night, and for fifteen winters every person with a prescription pad had treated the fire on top and ignored the hole underneath.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was what I saw when I scrolled down to her medication list.
Hydrochlorothiazide. A diuretic. For her blood pressure. Prescribed by her family doctor five years ago.
Diuretics pull water out of the body. On skin that has already lost the oil that holds water in, they are gasoline on the fire. It is documented. It is in the textbooks. Her family doctor prescribed it. Her pharmacist filled it, 60 times. Nobody, not the family doctor, not the pharmacist, not the dermatologist who typed "senile," not me, had ever connected the pill to the shins.
Five years. The pill that was supposed to protect her heart was drying her skin from the inside, and nobody told her.
That was not an oversight. That was the system working exactly as designed.
But Denise wasn't done.
She put a second thing on my desk. A yellow legal pad. Pages of it, in the neat block capitals of a woman who balanced a cash drawer for thirty-four years.
Every bad night since 2021. The time she woke up. What woke her. "1:48 A.M. Hot flash, then shins." "2:03 A.M. Hands. Blood on the pillowcase." A column for which cream she had used that evening. A column for how long it lasted. Most entries said the same thing: "Gone by 11."
Winter 2024 to 2025: 91 nights awake.
Ninety-one nights in one season. Up at 2 A.M., 3 A.M., 4 A.M. with her nails in her shins and her knuckles split, sitting on the edge of the bed so she would not wake her husband.
Her granddaughter Maya had slept over at Christmas. Seven years old. In the morning she asked the question no grandmother ever wants to hear:
"Grandma, why do you sleep with socks on your hands?"
Denise told me she went into the bathroom and cried.
Not because of the words. Because the child was right. She was sleeping in socks so she would not scratch herself bloody. And fifteen winters of appointments, 39 products and $23,000 had not changed that.
And I just stood there.
Laura H.
Has anyone actually tried this Cura Goods balm yet? I've been dealing with dry, itchy legs since menopause and honestly I've bought so many creams that I'm scared to waste money on another one...
Like · Reply · 4 · 39 min ago
Mary J.
In this example, I've been using the Tallow & Honey Balm before bed for three weeks. My legs feel softer in the morning and I like how rich it is compared with my usual lotion. I'm still using my prescribed treatment when needed, but I'm pleased with the moisture so far.
Like · Reply · 22 · 33 min ago
Sarah V.
I've tried CeraVe, Eucerin, Aveeno, you name it. My skin always feels dry again by bedtime. In this example, I bought Cura Goods last month and I've been using a little on my shins every evening. They feel much less tight in the morning. Wish I'd tried a richer balm sooner 😊
Like · Reply · 47 · 11 min ago
Ellis M.
@Sarah I was skeptical about putting beef tallow on my skin too! In this example, I started with a small amount on my legs after showering. It feels different from ordinary lotion, much richer. I can see why people like it for very dry skin.
Like · Reply · 47 · 11 min ago
Carla B.
My skin changed so much after menopause. Especially my hands and lower legs. In this example, I've been using the Cura Goods Tallow & Honey Balm for a few weeks and my skin feels softer than it did with my old body lotion. I just ordered another jar to keep beside my bed.
Like · Reply · 30 · 14 min ago
Hector G.
My wife is 73 and has struggled with extremely dry skin and eczema for years. In this example, I bought her Cura Goods because she's always putting lotion on before bed. She likes how moisturizing the balm feels, especially on her shins. She's happy to finally have something that helps.
Like · Reply · 10 · 10 min ago
Nick
Does anyone know how long the discount is still available? Thinking about ordering the Tallow & Honey Balm for my mother. She's 76 and her skin has been terribly dry since menopause.
Like · Reply · 10 · 10 min ago
Annie L.
@Nick The website says there's a 60-day money-back guarantee and a Buy 2 Get 1 Free offer. I'd check whether the offer is still showing at checkout. I'm considering getting some for my mum too.
Like · Reply · 10 · 10 min ago
Naomi H.
In this example, I'm 71 and have spent years buying creams for the dry patches on my arms and legs. I've been using the Cura Goods balm as my evening moisturizer and I really like how soft my skin feels the next morning. It's a simple little thing, but at my age, feeling comfortable in my own skin means a lot. ❤️
Like · Reply · 10 · 10 min ago
Emily D.
Oh my gosh, that's exactly what I'm looking for! I've wasted so much money on lotions that don't feel rich enough for my skin. I like the idea of a simple bedtime balm. Going to read more about the ingredients before ordering.
Like · Reply · 10 · 10 min ago