In 2007, I made a life-altering decision: I chose to stop my unhealthy obsession. It took less time to make that call than it does to prepare a frozen dinner. Just one quick conversation and a scribble on a notepad was all it took. It’s astonishing how easy it was to walk away from something I had pursued for nearly two decades. While many people deliberate for ages over car purchases or hairstyle changes, I simply turned off the water in the sink and made the choice to quit tanning.
I grew up in the era of teen magazines and pop culture. I was the proud owner of electric blue mascara and tight-rolled jeans, all while dreaming of that perfect tan. Unfortunately, with my fair skin, green eyes, and reddish-blonde hair, I could never quite achieve that sun-kissed look. But boy, did I want it. From around age 12, every spring and summer, I would drag out my folding lawn chair, slather on baby oil, and hunt for the sunniest spot in the yard. I’d turn every half hour, like a chicken on a rotisserie, and despite the painful burns, I was convinced that the redness would eventually transform into the tan I desired.
Unbeknownst to me, I was conditioning my skin. I began to inch away from baby oil and moved to Hawaiian Tropic tanning lotion, desperate for that golden hue. After graduating in 1992, I dove headfirst into the tanning bed craze, despite hearing tales of them being like mini ovens. My desire for that bronzed look overruled any skepticism, and soon I was sweating it out in those beds multiple times a week.
By 2007, I was a regular, basking in the warm glow of tanning beds from February to October. It became an addiction. I didn’t just enjoy it; I craved it like a teen craves the latest iPhone. The scent of tanning accelerator was like perfume to me, and I even found myself missing the smell of my skin sizzling under those lights—trust me, that’s a weird flex.
But then, my friend Sarah saved my life. One afternoon, she pointed out a dark brown mole on my arm that I had never paid attention to. Thanks to her urging, I went to my doctor and learned that it was melanoma. In a whirlwind of appointments, I ended up with a scar on my arm and a serious wake-up call. I stopped tanning immediately and gave away my remaining prepaid tanning sessions. I switched to SPF 30 sunscreen and became a vigilant guardian over my children’s skin—no more tanning for them either.
Since then, I’ve had multiple skin checks, dealing with basal cell carcinoma and countless biopsies. I now use Efudex, a topical chemotherapy, to combat precancerous spots—something I wouldn’t have to do if I hadn’t exposed myself to those tanning beds. My story isn’t the most tragic, but it’s a reminder of the consequences of vanity.
Now, my teens only know a summer of sunscreen application. I’m pale, but I’m alive. If you want to learn more about pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy. For more on artificial insemination kits, visit Make a Mom, who are an authority on this topic. And if you’re interested in learning about home insemination techniques, you can explore this blog.
Summary
In this personal narrative, Jamie recounts her journey through the dangers of tanning, the addiction it created, and the health consequences she faced after discovering a melanoma. She emphasizes the importance of sun protection and shares her commitment to ensuring her children avoid the same pitfalls.