I wonder how long before this blog is added to the carcinogen list. After my second skin cancer screening of the year (it’s an OCD thing---you name it, I’ve screened it), I’m confronted with an existential crisis: to worship the sun or dress as a beekeeper. Although my dermatologist, who could moonlight as an extra for the Twilight movies, has reassured me twice that I am currently melanoma-free, she also lectured me on the perils of stepping outdoors. Doc Shun-the-Sun Cullen presented me with pamphlets and bookmarks preaching about my imminent death if I dared venture past my front door sans SPF 300.
After noticing my slight tan, she asked how I acquired it. Well, I sometimes take my daughter for walks or read a book on the deck. GASP. “Any sun exposure is bad for you.” I know I never fared well in my science classes, but I am somewhat certain the sun has been hanging around for a few years now. On the fourth day, God created sun. I doubt He wore sunscreen while he rested on the seventh.
While I am not advocating roasting in the tropics (although I spent the better part of my college years sleeping in a tanning bed, and I may or may not be guilty of stealing my daughter’s baby oil), I can’t help but question this doctor’s message. A sunless existence? Let’s say I do cut back on my sun sessions---I will still likely succumb to another of my favorite carcinogens. If it’s not bad enough they’re preaching against cell phones, now they’re claiming water bottles cause the Big C, as well. Crap. I often sit in the sun on my cell phone while drinking a Dasani. Could someone pass the cigarettes and Agent Orange?
My OCD has turned CDC as I've read the Center for Disease Control’s Known Carcinogen List more times than People Magazine. They even have an App for that. I assure you I understand the enormity of cancer and in no way am trying to make light of it. I just find all these warnings enough to make even a sane person, well---me.