Tuesday, July 19, 2011

About two months ago I started getting really freaked about my moles. I have them checked yearly, and it is always a lovely experience involving an airy gown and awkward bra-less conversation. The climax is inevitably the removal via razor of several questionable spots, which the nurse always follow-up calls to say are weird but not so weird as to be dangerous. Two weeks ago I returned for this yearly revelry, and for kicks I brought the husband and kiddos. I told my doctor I wanted him to explain to Brandon what we’re looking for on this awkward expedition, “Cause I’m always freaked out that I’ve got cancer or something” to which the doctor might have rolled his eyes but it was hard to tell under all of that awkwardness.

This visit there was only one spot of interest, and the doctor cored it out, you know to change things up a little. I got stitches. Just sayin’, my kids thought I was pretty brave.

The following week I had a voicemail from my doctor’s office, and it was my doctor calling. Uh oh. It’s never good when the doctor calls with results and asks that you “please call me back as soon as you have a chance.” I spent the rest of the day attempting countless times to reach the doctor, and waiting, which is the WORST.

At 5:45 that evening the doctor finally called, and turns out my core was an in-situ-melanoma, which is fancy words for skin cancer, which is an overly dramatic way of saying a teensy-tinsy spot of stage zero cancer, which is to say he totally should never roll his eyes at me when I half-joke that I am totally freaked about skin cancer.

Things I did immediately: enjoy a leisurely dinner with my Aunt Jill who took the girls shopping and to Sonic which was marvelous.

Things I did not do immediately: google ANYTHING

My mom went to the follow-up visit with me the next day, since Brandon had his fair share of fun with the core-business. The doctor provided an encore awkward and extremely thorough review of every spot he could spot, and selected three more for immediate removal – ouch. He also explained the procedures he will be performing to remove more around the core on my arm, as well as an extremely nerve-racking procedure I will have done to remove a large mole on the top and bottom of my foot…. Biting nails and stressing at this very minute. My mom said she’ll get me a pedicure beforehand, and admittedly this does almost make it worth it.

I spent the weekend in St. Louis avoiding any tv show on the free cable having to do with skin beauty or death, both of which I want to have nothing to do with. I am very white, covered in chicken-pock, gallbladder removal, baby carrying, and now mole factory removal scars. And I am fine with that, and so is my dear husband, who applied medication all weekend to my open wounds and only gave me a kind of weird look when I asked if it would be weird if I went out without a bra on (cause it hurts so much).

Supposing all future spots come back fine, I should be good. But I will now be purchasing long sleeved shirts for sun protection at all times, which is literally all-the-time because my gosh that sun is EVERYWHERE. I might become like the mother on The Others and keep the curtains drawn, but long-sleeved shirts may be less awkward, and we already know how awkward this has already become what with the whole bra-less action and what-not.


I'm Jenn said...

Aw, sorry Katie, that sucks. I too suffer from the pale-skinnedness and have a dad who had melanoma removed from the tops of his ears (all that Coast Guard deck patrol in the Caribbean has its toll). I have some nice rash guards with sun protection. I just need to actually remember to bring them with me for with the SPF 110 decides not to work. :)

Anastasia Marie said...

Katie-- I'm right there with you on the being obsessed with my many moles thing. So much that I pretty much take the mess I take because I was way too OCD about it--and nothing else. I'm too paranoid to go to a doctor, though. I seriously broke out in a cold sweat and had a small panic attack when Sarah was relaying the story of this blog--you can ask her to verify if you'd like. That being said, I'm the social director of the Long Sleeves, Pants, and Goofy Hat Club. We meet in movie theaters, shopping malls, and int house. With long sleeves. And all the blinds closed.

I wish I was kidding.

Anastasia Marie said...

Also, I hate typing on the iPhone. Stupid Autocorrect. You of all people know I hate typos and bad grammar.