"You are just a baby at 30," he said with remorse on his face and in
his voice.
Age 30 that is. He was twice my age and old enough to be my
father. We were both having a Mohs
Procedure yesterday. We discussed past sun habits and having been
there before I could see that we also both felt shameful for ending up
with skin cancer. Because in some way we knew we played a role in the
demise of our skin's innocence. I think we both were thankful that it
was just that simple: A few cuts, a few stitches, a few hours of our day
and then done, cancer free. But it could have been and could someday
be, far more difficult.
The older I get, the
less self-conscious I get. I'm more comfortable in my own skin, so to
speak (Haha ... no irony there!) Now that I am a mother, a mother of TWO CHILDREN, I am even more
self assured and confident in myself. I speak my mind more
freely, I know who I am, I like who I am. But there is one place when I
feel strange, like a child, like I stand out like a gnarly gang-green
thumb. That place is the surgical waiting room at my dermatologists
office on the day of the week when he performs a Mohs Procedure to
remove Basal Cell Carcinoma skin cancers. I feel guilty for having skin
cancer because I know I could have prevented it. I could have worn more
sunscreen, more hats, used more umbrellas and sought out more shade.
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