Wrinkles in Time

For the first several years after my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer I didn’t focus on things like my weight, how I dressed, or other “me” things. Many would say I never did – and still don’t! J The truth is I just don’t CARE what anyone thinks about the way I look or dress. The way I FEEL is much more important and if I’m feeling confident or happy that shows through with or without makeup.

I guess what I’m trying to explain is that I didn’t really do things to make ME happy until several years into my cancer battle. I wasn’t able to say “no” when I was asked to do something or help with something. That’s all changed, thanks to my social worker and her expert counselling. I’m now more selfish about how I spend my time and what I get involved in. Somehow that evolved into being more concerned about the way I LOOK.

After losing 40 pounds in 2007 I wore makeup more than I went bare faced (a total reversal). I bought new clothes and cared about how I looked. And then it happened. I’d started to pay attention to myself and I started to notice age-related things happening to me. I always wondered when these things would show their presence on my body. I’ve known for many years that I’d most likely get little raised red spots and skin tags because I’d seen them on close female family relatives. I don’t recall when the little red spots started showing, but they’ve been around for several years and every time I look at them I think of my Grandma Rendall. She had them and I never questioned them or found them weird. I actually find comfort in these spots. They are part of my heritage.

Skin tags are an entirely different story. They are common in people of certain descents but they’re not part of my heritage that I want! To put it simply: they freak my freak.  I knew I’d most likely start to sprout them at some point in time – and I did. The first one showed up near my armpit many years ago.  I thought of shaving it off, but I don’t have the balls and it would likely just grow back anyway. Most importantly it’s in a place where no one can see it.  The place I’ve been dreading the appearance of the lowly skin tag is on my neck. I’ve witnessed female relatives with a lot of them on their neck. My mom used to have lots of them but had the majority of them removed. She obviously wasn’t pleased she had them.

As I hit 40 I was sure the skin tag invasion would start but it didn’t. At some point over the next couple of years I started to feel slight little bumps at the base of my neck and there they were. The dreaded skin tag. Gaaaaa!  Luckily they are very small and I don’t even see them – likely because my hair covers them.  By 43 or 44 a couple more somehow sprouted higher up my neck, but again they’re covered by the length of my hair so I don’t notice them. It helps that they haven’t grown into crazy big floppy skin tags from hell. If and when that happens I am going to be selfish enough to get them removed.  In the grand scheme of things what’s a few skin tags when you’ve got incurable breast cancer that could take your life within mere months?! I shouldn’t be so vain and selfish, but I am when it comes to the humble skin tag. I’ve learned to live with the threat of cancer spreading and ultimately killing me, but I just can’t deal with having skin tags hanging on my neck like chunks of mushy Rice Krispies flopping around for everyone to see. What the hell?! I can handle the thought of cancer killing me, but not living with a few harmless (but ugly) skin tags. Too funny… and weird.

I definitely know when wrinkles started to show.  I can pinpoint it starting in my 44^th year and especially now that I’m 45. It’s like they’ve shown up out of the blue in the last year. When I smile I see laugh lines beside my eyes and mouth.  It seems they just showed up one day and I wondered how they got there. But what, if anything, was I going to do about it? The sight of them shocked me, but not in a bad way. I was shocked because I honestly didn’t think I’d ever be old enough to have wrinkles. I started to wonder if all of the cancer treatments and other medications I’ve had may have brought this on so quickly. How does my body even tolerate all of the substances going into it on a regular basis – just to keep me alive?  Are these wrinkles my body’s way of showing the toll the meds have taken or are they there just because it’s TIME? Personally, I think it’s finally my time. I have much younger friends with more wrinkles than I, so it’s safe to say it is most definitely my time. And I’m thrilled. I am old enough to have wrinkles.  Holy crap!

Am I going to do anything about these wrinkles? I’ve always believed in aging gracefully (a polite way of saying I don’t believe in using surgery) and accepting the lines that come with time. I’ll admit to having a much better skin-care regimen than ever but that’s mostly because I’ve finally found what works best for my skin. Took me long enough! Cleanse, exfoliate, moisturize, sunscreen. That’s my regimen and I won’t be adding any fancy roller-ball products or miracle products that promise to get rid of my lines. I’m just happy to be old enough to have wrinkles. I’m proud to show I have lines that come with time. Lots of time. And that’s all I ever wanted.