Although most days I'm a laugh out loud funny girl, sometimes I don't feel so funny; I don't feel like making jokes. I don't feel like laughing. I don't feel like being around people. During those times I feel quiet and introspective. Today was one of those days.
Today I went to the Dermatologist to have some moles checked. If you're a member of one side of my family, you can just assume that the annual mole check will be part of your life. And today I started what I'm sure will be my never ending battle with the sun and my skin.
Most of my moles looked normal to the Physician's Assistant, thank goodness. But one of the things on my face was so odd that the Physician's Assistant said, "Hmmmm...I don't know what that is. I think I'll go get the Doctor."
So that's never a good sign.
I'm not worried, however, because for some reason I just know that what's on my face really isn't anything worth worrying about.
It's not anything like my husband's friend who didn't even realize he had Melanoma until the tumor grew out of his neck. It's not like anything like my husband's friend who's Melanoma's source was never found. It's not anything like my husband's friend who's Melanoma coursed through his entire body, eventually taking his brain, and two weeks later his life.
I don't know how I know it's not like my husband's friend, but I do. It's not the same at all.
So when the Physician's Assistant, at the request of the Doctor, took a biopsy of the growth that's appeared on my face I was calm. I just knew that everything was going to be OK.
So why, if everything is going to be OK, am I not feeling funny today? Why do I not feel like making jokes?
I think it's perhaps because I know that every time I battle the sun at the Dermatologist's office from now on, I'm not going to be able to walk through those office doors without remembering my husband's friend. I'm going to remember my husband's reaction as I listened to him talk about his friend's deteriorating body. I'm going to remember his wife and three kids at the funeral as they showed the family's last pictures together. I'm going to remember watching his kids at school the following weeks, studying them from afar as I tried to understand what they must be feeling.
And when I remember all of those moments for some reason, laughing and making jokes just doesn't seem like an option.
Melanoma-it's not so funny.
And joking and being laugh out loud girl? Well not today.
Maybe tomorrow. You know because tomorrow...everything will be OK.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
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4 comments:
Egads. My worst nightmare.
I'm so sorry. That is a heartbreaking story.
You're in my thoughts and prayers. I am sure you will find it is nothing.
And good for you for being so proactive.
I'm thinking of you. My mom had a basal cell melanoma, and I then had an irregular mole that was removed, so...yeah. It is so good you are getting it taken care of, that is the important thing (and it will be OK).
xx Lidian
I deal with this on a regular basis too. Both my parents have had level 4 melanoma, though thankfully removing the area was the only treatment. My father-in-law was on chemo a few years ago due to melanoma, and is still battling it. I've had dozens of moles removed, and know what it's like to wait and hope nothing's wrong.
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