the c word.

It's been a long time since I posted about the c word. I don't like it, but then again, I don't know anyone who does. So when skin cancer became a part of my life in July 2008, I became all too acquainted with that ugly word. Thankfully, I've had some time to process it--and while it's never "normal" to say I had skin cancer at age 23, I don't hide it like I did in the early days.

Since my melanoma was removed that summer, I have visited my dermatologist every few months without fail. After a biopsy at a routine visit in July 2011, my dermatologist removed a precancerous mole from my abdomen. For the first three years after my initial diagnosis, some part of me believed my melanoma was an isolated event. When I went into surgery for the second time, I quickly realized I would be fighting a lifelong battle with the c word. 

Let's face it: celebrating our third anniversary in April will be infinitely more exciting than my fifth melanoma "anniversary" in July. In my book, the word "anniversary" should never be used with sad events because it takes away from the good ones. As that fifth year mark came into view this year, I received another reminder that the c word will always be in my vocabulary.

Two weeks ago, I went to my dermatologist for my six-month check-up. I don't think I'll ever grow to love the process, but I slipped into my gown so she could do an examination of everything. {In the chill of winter, it feels slightly like you're in a bad dream in which you wake up in the middle of a football game without your clothes. Lots of fun, right?} One mole on the right side of my chest had been worrying me and she affirmed those worries. She wanted a biopsy. Though I have never much cared for the b word, I had mentally prepared myself for this one.

What I wasn't prepared for was the biopsy she wanted to take from a mole on my back. My back has always been a scary place for me because a) I can't really see it and b) I can't keep close tabs like I can everywhere else. {cv} keeps an eye on my back, but with my sea of moles, it is tough to pinpoint new ones. After a few quick swipes of a scalpel, it was all over. I just hated the odds that something might come back cancerous. All of my previous biopsies had.

I left the dermatologist's office feeling deflated, anxious, and seriously ticked at myself for ever caring about being tan. As life would have it, these biopsies kicked off a week of pure craziness in my personal and professional lives. The chaos helped keep my mind off of the impending news, but it didn't always do the trick. I've never been good at the waiting game. 

After eleven days of waiting, many prayers were answered when I heard my dermatologist say I was in the clear. I walked out of the office with an enormous smile on my face. I climbed into my car and cried a few happy tears. Though I know melanoma will always be a part of my life, it isn't time for me to fight it again. My relief can scarcely be put into words.

I may not blog about it often, but the sun savvy pledge that Danielle and I created in June 2011 is still very much alive. If you have any stories to share about how you've changed your sun habits, I am all ears. Please email me and they might find their way into a future post. 

If you're still reading, thank you. I choose to share this experience with you because I feel an obligation to confront the c word head on. The sun is still shining and it means we have a responsibility to take care of ourselves. I pray this post might encourage one of you to make an appointment about your mole that looks funny. I cross my fingers that it reminds you to wear your sunscreen--all year round. Above all, I desperately hope this post will serve as reminder that being tan isn't everything. Being healthy is. xoxo {av}

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