People with skin cancer are supposed to stay out of the sun, and individuals who also sport a nicely developed case of lupus are doubly warned against exposure. Beyond that, I’m clinically photosensitive: I feel like the sun is actually attacking me… oh, and I sneeze constantly if I don’t wear sunglasses!
Because of these factors it is safe to say that my skin has not been exposed to direct unmediated sunlight at all since 1983 – no matter how strong the temptation to frolic.
Preparing for even normal jaunts is a laborious process, including multiple varieties of sunblock, protective clothing, and an umbrella if those precautions do not suffice. When my remission ends (which can happen at any time – and sunlight is a major trigger), I have to wear gloves or wrap my hands in gauze. I’ve grown used to the public censure for what must appear to be very eccentric clothing choices, and people no longer comment, or at least, I don’t listen.
This does not mean that I lead a wholly indoors life – I just choose my adventures carefully, with the understanding that each excursion has the risk of kicking off a chain of unwanted medical events.
This fact is a point of sustained gloom, as I routinely turn down invitations to exciting excursions. I will never go to a festival, for instance, nor is it likely that I will visit any of the geographic region known to swelter.
Spain is just at the edge of my tolerance, because it is possible to conduct a social life in the early morning and late at night, avoiding the light in the middle of the day. I also tend to go only in the darker months of the year; a visit in June represented quite a racy risk.
My plan, as always, was to be as careful as possible… but enjoy myself at the same time. To accomplish this I often need to make concessions that would convince other people not to bother.
Yes, friends, even when visiting beaches where everyone else is naked, I go in the water fully clothed.
My bathing costume covered my body ankle to chin; I had on big sunglasses, and my face was fully made up. The plan was to take an early morning swim then retire to the hotel, but the salty waves were too tempting, and my companions too delightful, and I watched the shadows changing on the beach and knew that I was staying out far too long.
Every thirty minutes or so I applied sunblock to any exposed bits of skin, until I had used up an entire tube of the stuff and it was finally time to go.
I was astonished to find that I had been on the beach for eight hours. When I looked in a mirror I found that I had a burn on my scalp; later it became clear that my feet and ankles were similarly scorched.
I should feel fretful and guilty about this. But I don’t care; it was worth it to spend an entire day in the sea.
As the nine-year-old member of the party said while reveling in the waves: I never knew how many heights you could reach when you jump for joy.
