Sarah Martell Facebook ad: “I almost got trapped in a never ending payment cycle.”

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If your son has ever been prescribed Tretinoin, Doxycycline, or even Spironolactone from your dermatologist, I need to tell you how ours almost trapped us in a never-ending payment cycle unless we chose "Accutane." And I really wish another mom had told me this a year ago. 8 months ago we had our first appointment with the dermatologist. I explained what was going on. My son, 15, had these deep painful bumps all over his upper back. The kind that sit under the skin for weeks. The kind that hurt when his shirt rubbed against them. The kind that left dark marks even after they finally went down. It had started small a few months before. A few bumps on his shoulders. We figured it was just puberty. It would pass. But it didn't pass. By the time we got into the derm it had spread across his whole upper back. Some days he'd wince just leaning back in a chair. The derm looked at it and nodded like he'd seen it a hundred times. "Benzoyl Peroxide wash. Give it 8 weeks." So we did. Every night. Exactly like they said. 8 weeks later we were back. His back was drier, more irritated, still breaking out in the same places. They added Tretinoin. That helped for a little while. Some of the bumps flattened. The redness calmed down. I thought okay, finally. Then it came back. Worse than before. Back to the derm. Antibiotic this time. "Give it 8 weeks." We did everything they said. The washes. The creams. I bought acne-safe detergent. Changed his sheets twice a week. Made him wash his hair leaning forward so conditioner wouldn't run down his back. Cut out dairy. Cut out sugar. More water. And it would get a little better for a few weeks — just enough to make us think it was working — and then it would flare again. Same spots. Same deep ones. Same marks left behind. Every time I thought we'd turned a corner, we ended up right back where we started. They put him on a stronger antibiotic. Three months this time. Three months later, nothing. That's when the derm said the words I'd been dreading. "At this point, Accutane is really the only option left." I didn't say yes. I couldn't. I'd read too many stories. The monthly blood tests. The joint pain so bad some kids quit sports. The dry skin that cracks and bleeds. The mood changes. He was 15. I wasn't ready to put him through that. So we kept trying. More washes. More creams. Zinc supplements. A probiotic I found on Amazon at 1am. None of it stuck. And the whole time, summer was getting closer. His friends were already talking about the lake. Pool days. The beach trip someone's parents were planning. He didn't say anything about any of it. When they'd bring it up he'd just go quiet. Change the subject. Find a reason to leave the room. One of his friends asked if he was coming to the pool that weekend. He said "probably not" without even looking up. I watched him start making excuses before anyone even asked. Hoodies in May. Changing in the bathroom with the door locked. Sleeping in old bleach-stained shirts because the BP ruined everything else. I realized I hadn't seen his back in months. One night I was doing laundry. Just a normal Tuesday. Folding clothes. I pulled one of his shirts out of the basket — one of the old white tees — and saw the stain on the back. Blood. Not a lot. Just enough to know one of the deep ones had opened up again. Every wash. Every cream. Every prescription. Every appointment that ended the same way. Summer coming. All the things he was already saying no to. The lake trip he hadn't mentioned once. Him changing with his back to the wall. The door that was always closed now. I stood there holding his shirt. Didn't cry. Just felt like I was running out of time. That weekend I was at Target. Wasn't even thinking about his back. Just needed to get out of the house for a bit. I ended up in the supplement aisle. Grabbed a probiotic off the shelf — I'd seen something about gut health online. Figured why not. Then I heard a man and woman talking in the next aisle. "…bacne for two years…" "…tried all the prescriptions…" "…turns out it wasn't even a problem on his back." I stopped. Wasn't even a problem on his back. I walked around the corner before I could stop myself. "I'm sorry — I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But my son has the same thing. Deep bumps all over his upper back. We've tried everything. I just… I couldn't not ask." The man had a hospital lanyard. Badge said Dr. Mitchell. Gastroenterology. He didn't look annoyed. He actually looked like he got it. "How long has it been going on?" "Almost two years now. We've done the whole thing — benzoyl peroxide, salicylic acid, tretinoin. Three rounds of antibiotics. Nothing sticks." He nodded. "What's his diet like?" "We cleaned it up. Cut out dairy. Cut out sugar. He drinks more water now. Eats way better than most kids his age." "And still nothing?" "Still nothing." He paused. Then he said, "Could I ask you something?" "Sure." "Has his dermatologist ever asked you that question? About his diet?" I thought about it. Never. Not once. He shook his head a little. "So it's still like that here." "What do you mean?" "I just transferred to LA from Zurich. Back home, we approach this differently. When a kid's skin won't clear no matter what you put on it, we look at what's happening inside. The gut. The inflammation. But here, dermatologists just… treat the skin." He wasn't being rude about it. More like he was tired of seeing the same thing. "That's not their fault," he said. "It's what they're trained to do. Skin doctor treats skin. Makes sense." He shrugged. "But when the problem is actually in the gut, the creams only work for a little while — and then you're back at the dermatologist getting something stronger. That works for a bit too, and then it stops. So you go back again. That's just what happens when you're treating the wrong layer." He paused. "And eventually, when nothing on the surface is working anymore, they bring up Accutane. Because that's the only thing left in their toolkit." He looked at me. "But if a parent doesn't want to go the Accutane route — which a lot don't — it just locks them into that same loop. Appointment after appointment. Prescription after prescription. And the issue never actually gets solved." That hit me. Because that was exactly where we were. "So what do you do instead?" He grabbed a receipt from his cart and pulled out a pen. "You ever dealt with a clogged sink?" I didn't know where he was going with that. "Sure." "Water keeps rising. Spills onto the counter. You clean it up completely. But if the drain is clogged underneath, it just keeps coming back. Spills onto the counter again. Onto the floor. Over and over." He drew a quick picture. "That's what's happening with your son. His gut is clogged. Inflammation builds up. And his body pushes it out the only way it can — through his skin. His back. His shoulders. Same spots every time." He tapped the picture. "Every cream, every wash, every prescription — that's just cleaning the counter. The drain is still clogged underneath." It clicked. "So we've been treating the wrong thing this whole time." "Not the wrong thing. The wrong place." I stood there for a second. Then I looked around at the shelves. "What about these?" I grabbed one of the probiotics. "Would something like this help? I keep seeing stuff about gut health everywhere." He looked at the bottle. "That's the right idea. But that one won't do much." "Why not?" "It's built for digestion. Bloating. Gas. Not for what's happening with your son's skin. Wrong strains. And most of these die in stomach acid before they even get where they need to go." I put it back on the shelf. "So what actually works?" "When I moved here, I started looking for something that matched what we used back home. Took a while. Most of what's on the shelves isn't strong enough. Doesn't have the right strains. Doesn't survive the stomach." He pulled out his phone. "This is the only one I've found. It's called Skinfora. About 12 times stronger. Strains actually studied for skin. Survives stomach acid. Has a prebiotic to keep it working once it gets there." "And it actually works?" "It's what I recommend to every parent going through what you're describing. There's even a 90-day guarantee — so if nothing changes, you get your money back." He airdropped me the link right there in the aisle. "Thank you," I said. "Seriously. I didn't expect to find this in a Target." He smiled a little. "Neither did I when I moved here. Good luck with your son." He walked past me toward checkout. I stood there for a second. Then I ordered it right there in the store. A few days later the box showed up. I looked at it sitting on the counter and thought about everything we'd already tried. The washes. The prescriptions. The laundry routine. The antibiotics that did nothing. I thought about the blood on his white shirt. I thought about summer coming. About him changing with his back to the mirror. About the pool parties he'd already said no to. And I thought — if this doesn't work, we're doing Accutane. I'll sign whatever papers I have to sign. I just need him to stop hurting like this. But I wasn't ready to give up yet. I called him downstairs. "I want you to try something. Two of these with breakfast every day. Don't skip." He looked at the bottle. Didn't argue. He was too tired to fight me on anything anymore. He just said okay. Day 1. Two capsules with breakfast. Didn't say anything. I didn't either. Day 4. Nothing yet. I didn't expect anything. Day 7. He said his stomach felt a little different. Not bad. Just different. I told him to keep going. Day 14. The red bumps on his shoulders looked less angry. I didn't say anything. Scared to jinx it. Day 21. No new deep ones. First time in months. Day 30. He came downstairs in a t-shirt instead of a hoodie. Day 45. He asked if he could go to his friend's pool party. He hadn't asked that in over a year. Day 60. Clear. Not "a little better." Not "manageable." Clear. He looked at his back in the mirror one morning and just stood there. Like he was seeing someone he hadn't seen in a long time. That night he came into the kitchen while I was cleaning up. Didn't say much. Just hugged me and said "thanks mom." I held onto him and didn't let go for a while. A few weeks later I was on the phone with my friend Diana. Our kids have been in the same school since elementary. She was venting about her daughter. 14. Same thing. Cystic acne across her upper back and shoulders. They'd been to the derm twice. Tried the washes. Tried the antibiotics. Nothing was sticking. She sounded exactly like I did. I told her about the guy in Target. About the gut. About the drain. She was skeptical. I didn't blame her. I would've been too. But she tried it anyway. Six weeks later she called me. "Her back is clearing up. She actually wore a tank top to school yesterday. First time in over a year." She was crying. I told her to thank Dr. Mitchell, not me. That was 8 months ago. My son just started his junior year last week. His back is still clear. No new breakouts. No scars forming. No hiding. He went to three pool parties this summer. Took his shirt off without thinking about it. Didn't even mention his back once. I think about that day in Target all the time. Because if I hadn't walked down that aisle — if I hadn't overheard that conversation — we'd probably be on month 4 of Accutane right now. Blood draws every month. Mood tracking. Dry skin so bad it cracks. And honestly? Based on the stats, there's a decent chance it would've come back anyway. Because the drain would've still been clogged. Instead, I'm watching my son live like a normal kid again. I'm writing this because I see so many of you posting the same things I used to post. "We've tried everything and nothing works." "The derm just keeps prescribing stronger stuff." "He won't even take his shirt off at home anymore." "We're about to start Accutane and I'm terrified." I was you. Eight months ago, I was exactly where you are. And I got lucky. Right aisle. Right time. Right conversation. Most moms don't get that. So I'm sharing it here instead. The way I see it, you've got two choices right now. You can keep going down the path we were on. More appointments. More prescriptions. More creams that work for a few weeks and stop. Until eventually the only option left is Accutane — with the blood draws, the side effects, the mood tracking, and the chance it comes back anyway because the drain was never fixed. Or you can try fixing the drain first. 90 days. No harsh chemicals. No blood tests. No contracts to sign. And if nothing changes, you get your money back. If I could go back and talk to myself 8 months ago — sitting in that car after another derm appointment, feeling like I was out of options — I would tell her to try this first. Because now I get to watch my son take his shirt off at the pool without thinking about it. I get to see him walk around the house in a t-shirt instead of hiding in hoodies. I get to know that I gave him something that actually worked — without putting him through Accutane. That's worth everything to me. Here's the link Dr. Mitchell sent me that day: https://skinfora.com/pages/pal-9reasons I don't work for them. I don't get paid to post this. I'm just a mom who got lucky in a Target aisle and doesn't want other moms to go through what we almost went through. P.S. — If you're reading this before the Accutane conversation happens, you still have time. I almost didn't. We were one appointment away from signing those papers. Try fixing the drain first. That's all I'm saying.

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I almost got trapped in a never ending payment cycle...

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