Radiation Skin

I discovered tonight that I *did* actually get “radiation” skin.

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I was falling asleep, or trying to- and I rubbed my belly… at the sides.. in the crease where my waist meets my hips.. and skin rolled away. Just small pieces. Being a picker, of course, I started peeling.

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It took me a minute to realize the implications. I got up, got a hand-mirror, turned on the light.

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Stared at the dark skin, the peeling flakes, the soft raw-looking flesh underneath.

It doesn’t hurt. Less painful than a sunburn anyway. Itches a bit, a sign of the skin repairing itself no doubt. But disconcerting. Strange, to see it when I didn’t even really notice it before. Benefit (or detriment) of being fat I suppose. My own folds and wrinkles hid it from obvious view.

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I don’t know how to feel about it. Relieved? Because I know radiation is over… that I’m only noticing it as it’s healing itself? Upset? Because… one more sign of what I’ve been dealing with? One more piece that just… keeps surprising me with side-effects?

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I’m tired of these surprises. I’m tired of being fine one day, then waking up vomiting the next. Tired of knowing my body, knowing my skin one day and waking up peeling and red and ugly the next.

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I’m tired of this. Things were going so well when I first got sick last year. Really really well, well in ways I never thought it would. I was at a stable job, pursuing my art, loving my body, happy with who I am. And then Cancer changed all that, changed it even before I knew that it WAS Cancer.

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I keep thinking it’s going to be over, that I’ll get used to it because I will be beyond it. But will I ever really? I have another month of treatment, though thankfully no more radiation. But even beyond that. Every 3 months I have to go back. To get checked. 3 months. Every 3 months, to be reminded, to be rechecked, to be re-examined.

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No matter what I think or say… Cancer will be a part of me for the rest of my life. An invisible companion- stretching out a hand, waiting, looking for a way to grab hold of me again. And maybe it never latches on. Maybe I never again have to feel its fingers in mine… but it will always be… THERE. Here. Next to me.

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I don’t know how to manage all of the emotion that comes with that. And I don’t know how to talk about it. How to make sense of it.

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My life was as close to perfect as I could ever have imagined. And now, because of all of this, I have to rebuild. And maybe it will be better. Maybe this is just the beginning of more wonderful and amazing and satisfactory things.

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But right now, all I can see in my future is 2 sets of footprints… one belonging to me- and the other… to the Cancer that will walk (hopefully) silently beside me for the rest of my life.