As an alarmingly pale person, I see the dermatologist once a year to check any little moles and whatevers, make sure all is right in the world. I’ve been reasonably good to my skin as an adult, but as a kid who played soccer three seasons a year every year from age six or so into my twenties, starting back in the days when no one used sunscreen…well hell, back then people slathered themselves with a weird concoction of baby oil and iodine and would lay out on aluminum foil like salmon fillets on the grill. In those days that lacked sunblock, I remember getting a burn on the tops of my feet one year at the beach that was so bad I couldn’t walk for two days without bursting into tears. I remember burning so bad I blistered all over my chest and shoulders every single summer.
Nowadays, I sunscreen the hell out of myself and I wear a hat of some kind if I’m gonna be out in the sun for any substantial length of time. Some of you have mocked me for my uncool random baseball hats (these are also known primarily as “hats I stole from my Dad”), but who was whining about their sunburn a few hours later? Not me and my scary hat hair, nope.
But still I go to the dermatologist each year and generally all’s well…except just ahead of this scheduled visit, I noticed a little teeeeeeeeeeenytiny mole was different, it was changing. Suddenly it was darker. And then it was spreading. And then it wasn’t flat anymore. And in the span of just a couple weeks tripled in size from being a tiny speck to being a topographic map of Florida. It is still fairly small, but the changes in it were rapid and obvious.
So I pointed the mole of doom out to the dermatologist first thing at my appointment today and he squinted at the spot (smack between my boobs) and said, “Oh that’s gotta go. We’ll want to test it for skin cancer and we should just go ahead and remove it. We’ll punch that out for a biopsy and stitch you up. Sign a surgical consent form and we’ll get you scheduled ASAP.”
His friendly nurse then explained how they’d use a “cookie cutter” tool to remove the mole and depending how deep they had to go to “get it all out” would determine if the stitches involved would dissolve on their own or if they’d have to be removed at a later appointment. She went on to say that they would call me with biopsy results whether they were good or bad, then she shooed me off to get on the appointment book for this procedure.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Biopsy. That’s a scary word, a word they use on a lot of really sick patients on episodes of House. I know it’s routine for every questionable anomaly that’s removed from your skin, they wanna test it and know all about it, and I’m sure this will be fine, especially since I’m on top of it so quickly. But still. Yikes.
There’s been a lot of pondering and reflecting on mortality and the fragility of life and seizing the day in the last 18 months or so for me. A dear friend was murdered, my best friend flatlined a couple times in the hospital and my first serious high school beau has colon cancer. I’ve made many changes in my life since early 2007, purging toxic people from my social circle who were causing me more harm than good…I’ve said no more often to things that drain me (no, we’re not selling cookie dough door to door) and said yes to more of the things that I love (a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine are good medicine). I’m not perfect, but I’m doing better on giving more attention to the real life meaningful things and letting the rest of the nonsense of the world go on by. So…….what, Universe? What? What do I need to know? What are you trying to tell me? Have I not pondered my own mortality enough that you have to throw a biopsy my way to shake things up? I feel like I’ve seized the hell out of some days in 2008, that I’ve lived and loved and so what now? What am I supposed to learn from this exercise? It remains to be seen, I suppose.
My “procedure” is Monday. Ouch in advance–I’m poking the spot right now where they’ll punch a hole and put stitches, right on my breastbone, not a squishy soft spot with lots of cushion, nope. So on Monday, send flowers and money and a pony and jewelry, I like jewelry, and dark chocolate from The Chocolate Fetish…but in true Kat form, I will point out that sending me “feel better” gifts on Monday does not excuse you from buying me a Christmas gift.