TLC was quite upset when
she found out her new dermatologist was recommending she have Mohs on a spot
he’d biopsy-ed (not sure this is an actual word...). (She loved him, though. Truly!) I couldn’t blame her. I desperately wished it could be me that had to go through the experience. She’d
just done a pregnancy test—that was positive. She was worried about the
anesthetic and if, as time went on, it could end up being a worse diagnosis than the doctor’s original, which was basal cell carcinoma. She seemed young to be having this challenge.
She kind of wanted to
blame me. I let her be a bit cranky and accusatory. Skin cancer swims in my gene
pool. Not her Dad's. (And maybe I hadn't been as dedicated to making sure she used sun screen and hats?) No one in my family has ever been diagnosed with melanoma. But I, of course, had
breast cancer twenty-one years ago. The word “cancer” is not one TLC and I
like. It was a word that was pretty much only whispered during the first
thirty-ish years of my life. I think there were some family members that had
it—but it seems that the attitude, back then, was that it might be a form of
punishment. It was evil. I suspect people were afraid it was contagious. It simply was not
discussed out in the open. Not at my home or family get-togethers. Once I was
diagnosed with breast cancer, I became determined to talk about it as much as I
could. I thought those of us with cancer should be vocal, honest, and
forever optimistic and hopeful. (Apparently, over the past twenty-one years, I’ve sometimes been a
little too frank with people about my treatment, etc. Even now, I’ll tell you
lots more than you may want to know. I don’t know why. I can’t stop myself. Winky.
Wink.)
I was in my late 40s (I
was diagnosed with breast cancer two months after I turned 40) when I had two
skin cancers removed—one from my lower forehead and one on my neck—near my
collarbone. My dermatologist pretty much just dug them out! Consequently, I
have two pretty scars/odd-looking spots where those evil things used to reside.
I remember I left my job one morning to have a couple of places “burned” off my
face and returned three hours later with four bandages on my face and one on my neck. I was very
lovely, don’t’chaknow. When TLC learned
her fate, I did my best to convince her Mohs sounded like a great alternative
to what I’d experienced all those years ago. Progress can be extremely AMAZING, I
said. Embrace scientific advancements, I said. I suspect she wanted to slap me—just a
few times. Not hard. Enough to make me stop being so upbeat and optimistic.
The issue with the Mohs
surgery was that there was going to be no way to know if she’d be at the
specialist’s office for two hours or eight. I took enough clothes to be able to
stay six nights without the need to do laundry.
Since she and Her Hubby
(HH) had to be at the doctor’s office at 6:45 Thursday morning, I went a day early. We surprised Little Leighton
(LL aka Biscuit) at her preschool (she was HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY to see Grammy!)
and told her teachers I might be bringing her and picking her up the next week.
(They’re hugely cautious about the children and who can pick them up. Thank
God.)
As it all turned out, TLC
only had to have one initial layer taken! She was back home by 10:00 a.m. with a great big bandage, thirteen stitches, a
headache and some annoying burning sensations where the incision was made. HH,
Biscuit and I did our best to be FANTASTIC nurses/home health care assistants. TLC
was encouraged to stay in bed for a couple of days—in order to keep the
swelling to a minimum. In fact, she had to ice the bandaged incision every hour
for the first 48 (except during sleep—duh). Then she could cut back as needed.
Being pregnant, she’s only able to take Tylenol. She tried hard to be strong
and not take any. It was virtually impossible. The first couple of nights
weren’t too comfy for her, unfortunately. She did sleep better and “okay”
Saturday and Sunday nights.
TLC will admit she has a very
low pain threshold. I’d reveal she can be quite weeny-ish and dramatic (and we
wonder where Ms. Biscuit gets her flair for exaggeration?). Overall, as with so
many other difficult challenges TLC has faced in her thirty-one years, I was
beyond proud of her bravery. Her excellent attitude.
I came home late yesterday
morn, leaving TLC’s care to HH and LL.
I’ll now leave at 5:30 a.m. manana. For one more night, two more days
of assistance/cleaning/caretaking/nanny-ing/pep-talking. TLC will have her
stitches out on Thursday and, hopefully, recover fairly quickly. She does have
another “spot” that must be checked/biopsy-ed at the end of this month. Near this first
one. I pray every night it won’t require Mohs. If it does, it does. She/we can
handle it.
TLC and I would encourage
all of you to watch for places on your body that don’t look normal. That don’t
heal. Have them checked! It’s important. Cancer is a FRIGHTENING word—but it’s
not the end of the world. Not like it seems it used to be.
I’ll be back in touch ASAP,
Sweet Peas! TLC reassures me she’ll get a post done—soon. Hmmm. I continue to be skeptical. I do want her to share the gender of her second baby with Y'all. She and HH should know by
the end of this week or the first of next...YIPPEE!!!
Love and Hugs and Smooch!
