My Relationship with the Sun

            Prior to my skin cancer diagnosis, my relationship with the sun was very laissez faire.  I loved being outdoors, but was never one of those teenaged girls who broiled in baby oil all summer.  I played in the sun as a child, worked in the sun from time to time as an adult, and never considered the sun to be anything other than the provider of beneficent energy.  I only remember one summer, the last one as a classroom teacher, when I spent every day at the beach and developed a really deep tan, believing that tan pudginess was better than white pudginess.  I have no idea what, if anything, the sun considered me to be.

            Now, however, I find myself having to avoid exposure to direct sunlight.  It reminds me of the days when my parents would order me to stay away from certain friends whom I thought were fun and they thought were dangerous. I haven’t yet completely automatized my habits now post-cancer.  I purchased two fabulous floppy hats, and I sometimes forget to wear them.  I have sunscreen that makes my skin feel horrible, so I don’t put it on every day.  Now, six months after the procedure to remove the basal cell invasion, I can hardly see the scar, so I don’t have the visual prompt to cover up.  Besides, seeing the scar involves looking in the mirror and if I’m not going to work, I rarely look in the mirror.

            The sun and I have had to work out a new agreement.  It goes something like this:  the sun continues to rise and set, providing warmth and energy and light, and I am reminded by its presence that I must protect my light olive skin.  I hope that all the people I love will develop a new agreement with those things that give them pleasure but cause them potential harm:  sun, cigarettes, alcohol.  I want to be here, sitting in the shade enjoying the day with those people for many more years, my relationship with the sun not withstanding.