I started writing this post almost six months ago--back when I started blogging. While sitting on one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world {in Turks & Caicos}, I flipped through that month's Glamour magazine. It was a perfect day in paradise in May 2008...until I turned to page 129.
On that page, I found the two-minute cancer test. It caught my attention on the cover, but I never thought it would apply to me. It was their perennial article on skin cancer and how to spot it. The pictures weren't pretty. Moles of all shapes, sizes, and colors that just looked wrong. Then, I spotted something which made my heart drop. One of the moles looked distinctly like a mole I first noticed in the spring of 2005, my sophomore year of college.
When I showed the mole to my doctor during the summer of 2005, she simply told me to keep an eye on it. At that point, it was the size of a pin prick. Extremely tiny--and by most accounts, pretty harmless. Three years later, it was the size of a pencil eraser and it was dark and almost black. The Glamour article scared me enough to find a dermatologist that first Monday I was back in DC. I booked the first available appointment they had, two months down the line.
For the two months I waited, I had this lingering suspicion something just wasn't right. It still wasn't enough to stop me from my once {or twice} weekly tanning trips. Returning from Turks & Caicos, I was so dark I would get asked daily where I'd been on vacation. I could easily say that May and June 2008 were two of my "tannest" months on record. I have plenty of pictures to prove it.
I will never forget the day I first walked in my dermatologist's office. It was July 1, 2008, a steamy DC day with a hazy sun hanging in the sky. I sat in the full-to-the-brim waiting room for almost an hour before they finally called my name. They had me change in a hospital gown, so the doctor could examine me from head to toe. The minute I opened my gown, she spotted the mole in question and immediately said it "had to go."
My heart sank and an overwhelming sense of worry surged to the surface. As she took a small sliver of skin from the mole for a biopsy, I received my first-ever "non-scheduled" stitch. {The only others I had up to that point were for my wisdom teeth. Ick.} I remember walking back out into that hazy sun feeling angry. I left the appointment that day and told only a small handful of people about what had happened. I was ashamed. Though I didn't have a diagnosis, the reaction the doctor had to my mole was enough to foreshadow the news I received the next week.
A week later, while driving across the Key Bridge into Georgetown, a blocked number called my phone at 11:30am. I answered quickly--hearing a timid voice on the other end of the line asking if I had a moment to talk about my biopsy results. My heart pounded as he told me that the news wasn't good. I pulled into a parking garage right as he confirmed my worst fears. It was melanoma.
I walked a few steps into a Subway on K Street, with tears unabashedly streaming down my face. I bought a chocolate chip cookie and a Diet Coke. I called my parents and {cv} in disbelief. Everything was a blur. For the next week, I went for blood tests, x-rays, and doctor's appointments. I felt completely powerless. Even when I went shopping to numb the pain {never a good idea!}, the saleswoman said the turquoise top looked "so wonderful with my tan." Her comment kept me crying in the fitting room for nearly five minutes.
Thankfully, {cv} was able to come down up from Charlotte for the surgery on July 24, 2008. {kj}, one of my best friends, came to sit with him in the waiting room. {She even brought me chocolate chip pancakes from The Original Pancake House to take my mind off things!} My dermatologist was able to remove the entire mole during the thirty-minute procedure. That night, {cv} treated me to dinner at 1789 and I forgot about the pain for a few hours.
In a strange way, I mourned my bronzed glow. I resented the fact everyone around me was still perfecting their tan, while I was watching mine disappear. I struggled to tell my friends, for fear they would somehow judge me--though I needed their support more than ever. Those I told assured me I shouldn't feel that way, but for some reason, I couldn't shake it.
My diagnosis was the wake-up call of all wake-up calls. I'll never forget walking into the tanning salon and revoking my "membership." When their cancellation form inquired about my reason for leaving, I wrote skin cancer. When the saleswoman saw my answer, she asked a few too many questions--and I left in tears. I also left knowing I would never, ever step in a tanning bed again. I also decided I would encourage everyone I knew to stay away from them too.
Since my surgery, I have been in a bathing suit less than five times. I didn't put on a bathing suit at all in 2009--and it took a lot of courage to put one on again last summer. It was a huge step in accepting the fact I could be in the sun, I just had to be smart about it. I bought a cute sun hat and a few extra cover-ups, but I'm still making peace with the fact I will never be as tan as I used to be. My post on
one piece bathing suits was really my first step at admitting bikinis are no longer my schtick. Since my melanoma was on my chest, there is no sense in tempting the sun since
statistics say I'm nine times more like to have another melanoma in the future.
I'll admit: I was one of those girls in high school and college who was tan all year round, even in the doldrums of winter. The irony is that I wrote a paper in eighth grade about the dangers of tanning, but two years later, I joined in the throngs of girls who filled the tanning beds in my hometown. My German skin never burned, so I thought I was invincible. I decided nothing would ever happen to me. Little did I know, I would become a part of a rapidly growing statistic. Any time I fill out paperwork for a doctor's office, I have to check the box marked cancer. It always gets a few looks when I return it to a receptionist. It will never be a badge of honor, but it will certainly always be a part of me.
After writing this post, I realize it could all sound frightening or maybe even too personal. I'm okay with that because skin cancer is scary and melanoma is more than just an ugly word. The sister of a friend from my hometown died of skin cancer when she was in her early 20s, so I knew I should go with my gut when I read that Glamour article. I am so grateful for each day {and each year} that passes because I shudder at what could have happened had I waited even a little longer to visit a dermatologist.
Please learn from my experience or from someone else you know who may have suffered a different outcome: Being tan isn't everything. Being healthy {and alive} is.
Apologies for this especially heavy post for a random Tuesday, but sharing my story with you today is my another step in my journey at helping other see that they aren't automatically immune from skin cancer. It's real. Very real. I certainly won't judge you if you're tan, I just want to make sure you're safe!
Thank you for reading--and
wear your sunscreen. xoxo {av}
P.S. If you are at all questioning whether you should have something checked out,
find an answer and book an appointment with a dermatologist today.
