Aug 8, 2013 3 min read

Five weeks into Retin-A, and I can finally say my skin has progressed to a finer grade of sandpaper. It’s still rough and dry, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from scratching at it, but I’m not losing faith.

Retin-A is the prescription skin cream that’s supposed to fight aging. Any magazine article or TV report about nonsurgical wrinkle fighters puts Retin-A at the top of the list. It’s what dermatologists use on their own faces.

And if it’s good enough for them …

It’s not my first try. Eight years ago, a dermatologist gave me a sample, and I jumped in with gusto. If the “pea-sized” amount they suggested I use for my entire face was good, then two peas’ worth would be even better.

By the next morning, I was a red, ripe tomato, as swollen and itchy as if I’d done a face plant into poison ivy. A course of steroids later, my face calmed down and I vowed to accept and love my wrinkles, because nothing was worth that misery.

Time has passed and my wrinkles aren’t so lovable. So I decided to try it again. Retin-A is derived from vitamin A, and it works by rearranging skin molecules.

“Pea-sized amount all over the face once a week,” the instructions said.

I was to work up to three nights a week, and then move to nightly only if my skin could take it.

That first night, I was nervous. What if I just can’t use the stuff, and I end up with another bad reaction? But I’d done that to myself, using a whole pod of peas instead of just one. This time, I would follow the rules.

Nothing bad happened. I was tempted to use it again the next night, ignoring the rules to work gradually. On my calendar, I marked the treatment nights with a big, red A – scarlet letters pointing the way to a smoother me, if not a younger one.

As I’ve moved through the weeks, my face has grown rougher and sandier. Scratching is a favorite pastime. I tend to sleep facedown in the pillow these days; it feels good to have something to rub against.

Does everybody using Retin-A go down this itchy road on the way to peaches and cream? Failing surgery – and so far I’m counting it out – is this my best chance to keep my cheeks approximately where they are now?

I grew up around aunts and grandmothers who didn’t have Retin-A or Botox or any of the products women have now. I’m sure those ladies were wrinkly, but I didn’t notice – and probably still wouldn’t notice if they were alive and middle-aged now.

But I look in the mirror and can point out everything that’s deteriorated since last summer. We women sure can be hard on ourselves.

According to the calendar, next week I’ll use the cream every other night. After that, I can do it nightly if I want. I have faith that I’ll soon turn the corner, and my skin will stop itching.

It’s such a small thing, this ritual of dabbing my face with “the one thing that really works.” I suspect that even if the cream does everything it’s supposed to do, the improvements won’t be drastic. Maybe the wrinkles will be a little shallower. And I’ll be the only one who notices.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.