A Mommy Story

It’s obvious to anyone who sees me that I burn easily in the sun. Being fair-skinned, I’ve never been able to achieve those deep tans that others sport.

I’ve always known about sunscreen. As a kid, my mom would put a bottle of it in my backpack every time she dropped me off at the community pool, nagging me to use it. I, being the cocky, indestructible eight year old that I was, would tell her OK as she drove away, then ditch my backpack with my towel under a picnic table as I ran to join up with friends in the deep end of the pool. The sunscreen remained in my bag the entire day.

As you can imagine, I’d come home bright red nearly every day. Sometimes with blisters. As soon as the burn healed and the dead skin peeled away, I was right back out in the sun to burn anew. Burns hurt, yeah, but I was a kid and didn’t want anything to get in the way of play, and that included the time it took to put on sunscreen. Besides, I didn’t like how greasy it felt.

When I was a teenager, I didn’t want to burn but I sure wanted that tan. Tanned bodies filled the high school, and being ghost white made me stand out. (Well, stand out more than I already did.) I always had bad luck with tanning, though, resulting in either a burn or a pathetic light tan. When I had a part-time job at 16, I used some of the money to tan in a tanning booth. I still burned though. Let me put it this way: I burned so much as a kid that my nose is permanently red.

I look back on all of this skin damage, and wish I could go back to my old self and do some kind of scared straight intervention. It would probably involve vivid descriptions of what it’s like to have spots and moles removed (I was terrified of needles as a kid) and the phone conversation I had with my dermatologist’s office yesterday:

“Hi, I’m calling with the results on the skin biopsies we did. OK, the one on the right middle back was benign.”

In the one and a half seconds between that sentence and the next, I pondered her words. Why did she start individually? Is she required to go through each one, instead of telling me they’re all OK? Or maybe one of them came back with something wrong. OK, I guess I should be prepared for one to come back abnormal.

And then she continued, “The other five all came back abnormal. We call it neoplastic…” At this point my focus drifted off of her actual words as I remained on the words abnormal and neoplastic. We studied this in nursing school. It means pre-cancer cells. Five of six removed were abnormal. Five out of six. I wasn’t prepared to hear that. Sure, pre-cancer cells aren’t cancer, but they could be if I’m not cautious.

She continued on, unable to hear my chaotic inner monologue, “They’re pre-cancer cells, which means if they had been left alone they were more likely to turn into skin cancer. There are three levels of abnormal cells: mild, moderate, severe. So far, all of those came back mild, but the doctor now wants to see you every four months for rechecks and to remove any more that show any signs of change.”

I finally stumbled out, “Should I do anything?”

“Well, you’re at a much higher risk for skin cancer now, so if you’re not already doing it, protect your skin. Preventing further skin damage will help, although the past damage still keeps you at risk.”

At least those five abnormal spots were removed. But at the same time, I remember at my appointment that the doctor had mapped out several more to keep an eye on. He probably could have removed another six, but I’m guessing he didn’t feel like making me look like swiss cheese or want me to care for that many wounds at once. Now I look at all of these moles on my arms, legs, back, chest, and face, wondering when one of them might turn against me. Which one is harboring pre-cancer cells, just waiting for their chance to attack me?

I’ve embraced pale white as a lifestyle and fashion choice since my college years, and this recent news is reinforcing my resolve. I will wear protective clothing or sunscreen when out in the sun. I often forget to apply sunscreen when I’m out for short periods, which is something I need to be more consistent with, since that can cause damage, too.

And I’m going to make sure both girls put on sunscreen when they’re outdoors, especially Cordy, who inherited my pale skin. Mira has her dad’s olive-tan skin tone, but that doesn’t fully protect her, either. If they won’t wear it, maybe when they’re older I’ll take them with me for a mole removal, or just show them all of my small scars. They already complain like I did as a kid, but someday I hope they’ll understand that I’m only trying to keep them from going through the fear and worries I’ve gone through, and will likely go through again.

So if you ever need sunscreen, let me know. I’ll always have some with me!