Skin deep

I’ve officially been “visit-the-dermatologist-anually” years-old since 2014.

What I’ve learned in the intervening 11 years is that these appointments with Dr. Weiss are usually quick and painless but sometimes unexpectedly concerning.

My Darling Beloved remains vigilant about my health, and when I catch her gazing longingly at my ruggedly handsome features, I have learned that she isn’t wondering how she could be so lucky to have such a gracefully aging husband. No, she is contemplating plucking my eyebrows, wondering how my nose hairs have become so unruly or scanning my visage for potentially catastrophic skin lesions that will prematurely take me from her, forcing her to take the dogs out in the dark, kill bugs and reach items on the higher shelves of the cabinet.

She usually has a list of unusual skin deformations she would like me to consult Dr. Weiss during my annual visits and has even offered to circle them with a Sharpie. So helpful!

I went to this year’s appointment Sept. 2 with a spot under my right eye that I had been monitoring since April. Carla hadn’t even noticed the bump, perhaps because she is no longer as enthralled by my ruggedly handsome features, or, as I prefer to assert, the spot was obscured by my eyeglass frames.

The little mark had all the signs I have been trained to look for by Dr. Weiss: suddenly appearing, irregular coloring and changing shape. It didn’t surprise me that he elected to biopsy the spot and scrape off a few extra layers of skin for good measure.

I’m still awaiting the results, but I’m not worried. My fair complexion prompts these minor procedures periodically. If it comes back malignant, Dr. Weiss will either call me back in for further skin removal or monitor the spot, confident his extraction of my flesh was sufficient the first go-round.

This isn’t my first rodeo. My first basal cell carcinoma removal was way back in July 2014. Oddly, it was on my lower back, an area of my body that receives zero sunlight. I was surprised when it turned up as a problem area for malignancy. That quick and almost painless procedure captured my attention. I immediately improved my sunscreen application regimen.

That’s also when I began making the fashion choice to wear a long sleeve swim shirt and a series of bigger and bigger sun hats during our beach vacations. I also began selecting sunscreens with a minimum SPF of 50 that I applied more frequently than in the past.

I’ve seen my mom go through this process, so I know it will not relent. Just a few weeks ago she had a squamous cell carcinoma removed from her back that required stitches. She’s had the Mohs surgery, or micrographic skin cancer surgery, a handful of times. In the interest of science –  and to prompt a sympathetic response from her boys – she has shared photographs of her wounds. I know in gruesome detail what I have to look forward to.

The truth I’m having to accept about my own skin diseases is that as careful as I have become these past 11 years, there’s still a lot of damage that was done back when I was oblivious. I came of age in the ‘70s and ‘80s when sunscreen was unheard of. If anything, people used “suntan oil” sold in plastic brown bottles adorned with inappropriate images of dogs pulling down little girls’ bathing suits. These coconut-scented substances didn’t prevent sunburn as much as keep the flesh moist during roasting, like a good marinade or brine.

I can remember several sun burns so severe that they produced blisters and were accompanied by what I later learned was called “Devil’s Itch,” one of the most painful conditions I have ever had to endure. The only relief came from a lukewarm bath, repeated applications of aloe vera or calamine lotion and the lightest of scratching from a terry cloth bath towel.

On those unfortunate occasions, I mistakenly believed that once the blisters healed and the itching stopped, usually after a day or so, my problems were over, and I could resume my normal boyhood activities. I lacked the foresight to understand I would one day have to visit a dermatologist regularly to have my skin scraped off and tested for cancer.

I understand why the more “mature” members of our society dispense unsolicited warnings and advice. They are in the phase of life when the consequences of a lifetime of unquestioned habits are revealing themselves. This phase begins usually about the time AARP starts sending you membership applications.

My lack of awareness of the long-term effects of sun damage as a youth is producing that scarred, weathered countenance that has severely reduced the number of people who are surprised by my actual age. And as I joked with Dr. Weiss as he was slicing off my parts of face, this is going to have a negative impact on my modeling career.

On second thought, maybe I should start sending headshots to casting agents looking for “middle aged man with skin cancer” to appear in ads for such treatments as Fluorouracil, Vismodegib or Pembrolizumab.

I could be to skin cancer what Wilford Brimley was to “diabetus.” If I have to live with this skin, the least I can do is monetize it.