My teenager informed me that I looked like an Eskimo. That would be fine if we didn't live smack dab in the heart of humidity. The Atlanta area is beautiful, but today's weather dictates short sleeves and sandals.
Nevertheless, I am covered. My legs showcase a road map of veins. When my son was five, he asked me about these long, violet vessels, "Mom, how did you draw all of those lines?" So, long pants have become a standard.
When I turned 50, my arms started their own art show. Penny-sized, crescent-shaped, rose-colored bumps appeared on my hands and arms. A quick trip to a dermatologist relieved some fears that I was contagious (or even worse yet-that skin cancer was developing). Benign, I tried to make peace with my body's attempt to turn me into a dalmation. The prognosis was positive. Most people who develop this skin condition, officially called Granuloma Annulare, report that the spots fade after about two years.
Three years later, I am still trying to use creams to subdue my spots. I've even found a special make up that will mask my arms. I teach in the Science lab at our elementary school. Sometimes, I feel very self-conscious and give in. It's long sleeves and band-aids.
As soon as I'm back among family and friends, the make-up comes off and long sleeves are exchanged for short ones. It's a relief to forget about my skin and what people think.
I never have to worry about God's reaction to my body's flaws. He loves me warts (spots) and all.
No comments:
Post a Comment