Early in the quarantine, I ordered some new skincare products. A couple weeks later, one of my daytime caregivers was filling in on an evening shift. After she got me into bed, I asked her to get my new facial oil instead of the regular moistur­izing cream I usually used.  Obediently, she returned with a palmful and rubbed it into my cheeks and neck. My skin felt soothed and I fell asleep.

The next morning, my mom woke me up while it was still dark so we could get to an appoint­ment. When she switched on the light, she looked concerned.

“Do you feel OK? Your skin looks funny,” she said. “What is going on?” I felt fine, but she was freaking me out. I looked in a mirror and gasped at what I saw.

My face looked like a little kid finger painted red-brown swirls up and down it. When we saw my pillow w