The C Word

I never expected to be diagnosed with cancer at 32 years old. But there I was in my brand new half marathon t-shirt at my dermatologist appointment thinking I was just doing my due diligence. My husband mentioned I should have a mole checked, and I kept putting it off, but both my brother’s dog, Toby, and my new puppy, Minnie, took a special interest in sniffing it, and that aroused my suspicions. The mole was reddish and randomly hurt sometimes, but I was healthy. I was practically invincible. I just ran over thirteen miles the week before. A half marathon. I would go because it was what I was supposed to do. Even though my general practitioner looked at it and said it was probably nothing.

Sure enough McKenzie and the dogs were on to something, because my mole came back positive for melanoma. The most deadly form of skin cancer. It didn’t feel real. Suddenly I was on the other end of some very serious phone calls. I was told I needed to warn my siblings that they are more likely to get it now too, and that I was now a person who needs to go to the doctor for regular skin checks. My melanoma was over 1.5mm deep so it was considered a serious cancer.

The C word was always just a sad plot in a movie, or something that didn’t happen until you were old, or the awful result of being a pack a day smoker. How dare the sun betray me this way?!

I needed surgery. I always considered myself to be brave, but I was suddenly scared. This was a lot all at once. I didn’t like thinking about being put to sleep and not remembering what would happen to me. I didn’t like thinking about what would happen if the surgery didn’t work. I didn’t want to die.

I kept the news pretty close to my heart, and tried not to let others see me cry.

The hardest part was waiting for surgery. I was creating scary scenarios in my head, and thanking God I got to travel before I died, and wishing I could have seen more.

The surgery went well. I remember waking up to a guy changing me out of a blue gown into a green gown for some reason, and then going back to sleep. My pain was tolerable. I had loved ones who cared about me.

But then I had to wait. The pain pills wore off. I had a hole in my arm, and a sore armpit that I wasn’t allowed to deodorize, and no news on if the surgery was a success.

My melanoma was right above my elbow, which meant I couldn’t bend my arm properly. You take for granted so much when you are healthy. The ability to go to work, do housework, workout, bathe yourself. When that’s all suddenly taken away you feel like less of a person. You feel like a burden.

I didn’t tell a lot of people about what I was going through, but I can’t thank the people that did find out, and who checked on me enough, especially my husband, McKenzie, who saw me at my weakest.

I’m so incredibly happy and blessed to share that my results came back, and I’m cancer free! I feel like a bit of an imposter saying that, because my experience was so quick and quiet. There are people who suffer for years, and it’s not lost on me that my own suffering is nothing compared to that. But it was still cancer making her attempt at seeing me to an early grave. If not for modern medical advancements perhaps I wouldn’t get to be here long. We battled, and I’ve fought her off for now. Death will come for us all eventually though. Which is why it’s important to give your loved ones the very best version of yourself you can.

I’m not really sure how to end this article. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief, but I also feel a weird loss. My arm still hurts, there’s some concerning swelling, numbing, and random nerve pain, and it’s frustrating not being able to use my full range of motion. At the same time, I survived cancer. I believe God was with me, and I’m so incredibly lucky that he allowed me more time here. I guess I better use it well.