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Just What I Need: A Mortality Poke
What did you expect? You’re a pale blonde who got her share of peeling sunburns when you were a stupid kid.
But nobody knew any better back then.
So what? Get over it already! It’s just a squamous cell.
But I’ve never had one before. I’ve had a basal cell carcinoma; that’s just pre-cancer. This is the real thing!
Good grief, woman. You’ll go to the skin care center on Tuesday and they’ll dig it out. No big deal.
This morning I received a phone call from the skin cancer center regarding a couple of biopsies they took two weeks ago. One is benign, but the other, on the bridge of my nose, is a squamous cell. When I had the sample taken, the doctor told me a squamous cell requires the same treatment as a basal cell; I’m not sure if that was supposed to be reassuring (it’s easy to treat) or not (we have no better way to treat it).
When the tech called me, he asked me if I knew what Mohs therapy was, and I said I didn’t. He then proceeded to read the pathology report. (That term reminds me of morgues shown on television.) After we made the appointment, I realized I didn’t know how much time to block out; that’s when he remembered to explain the process. It could take one to four hours. Four hours?! He carves out part of my nose, examines the sample, and if the edges aren’t clean, he carves out more, until a sample of my skin has clean edges. Right. So I joked half-heartedly that we could hope for 1-2 hours, right? He chuckled to encourage me. I think.
They’ve done this procedure many, many times, Susan.
Yeah, but it’s on my nose.
Do a little meditation in between their taking samples.
Samples? No, I’m hoping for just one sample.
So what is the big deal? In one way, I try to take this kind of information in stride. But not knowing is never easy for me.
One hour later . . .
Once more, sanity has returned. (I think that’s a good thing.) These kinds of skin treatments, especially in my 55+ community, are not unusual. I’ve heard good things about this center and the doctor.
What does remain, though, is the reminder that my body is decaying. Like everyone else on the face of the earth, I began to die as soon as I was born. And as I get older, the aches and pains show up more often, my memory is more flawed, everything seems to have sped up and slowed down at the same time.
But this is my life, and I’m incredibly grateful for it, squamous cells or not. I can celebrate this day of aliveness and friendships and unfolding. As the Jewish New Year approaches, I am humbled by this gift called life. Thank you Ha-Shem.
Published in General
Thoughts and prayer’s
Oh yes.
I have to go for my skin check in a couple of weeks. I’ll probably be joining you—if not this time, sometime—among the squeamish squamous…
Another wish of good luck from me, Susan. I had my first Mohs surgery last year on my head, and I can imagine what it must be like to get it done on your nose. Mohs is tedious, but the good thing about it is that it maximizes the chance that they get all of the cancer with the least removal of healthy tissue. So I hope you think it’s worth the hassle.
My mostly Scots forebears settled in Phoenix 130 years ago or so. I’ve been trying to figure out why, and the only thing I can come up with is that the climate of Phoenix was about as different from the cold and damp climate of Scotland as they’d yet found. I loved growing up there, but the sun is tough on us pasty-pink folk. Plus, when I was a kid, getting sunburned to blisters was a rite of passage. If you didn’t get at least one per summer, you weren’t doing it right. My parents have now had several carcinomas each, and my dad had a melanoma removed a couple of years ago. Wear your sunscreen and protective clothing, kids.
Yikes, I! That’s a lot. It’s good to see that you are still here, telling the tale. Thanks for the encouragement.
Oh, and I hate wearing anything on my head! But you’re right, WC. At least I repeatedly put sunscreen on my face since we sweat it off. I’m reminded of a friend who told me ten year ago that he doesn’t worry about damage at this stage of his life; all his problems will come from sun exposure many years ago. I plan on living long enough to keep having sun damage for a long time . . . uh . . . not exactly what I meant! ;-)
That must have been quite a scare for him, Kim, at such a young age. But at least he’s not in denial and taking precautions!
Beautifully said, Franz. Thanks!
Good luck for a good outcome, Kate!
So true, Archie. Oh, and the rite of a summer sunburn! I’m so glad you and your folks are taking care of these growths. It’s tricky sometimes to identify them. My own just looked like a dry place on my nose, no discoloration. But it wouldn’t go away. Pay attention, those of you who think it’s nothing. If it’s new and doesn’t go away, check it out. And have a spouse or friend check your back!
Susan, I have had several rounds of MOHS and it is the best way to go. Not just for the way it looks after the surgery but because it gets the best results for doing away with the cancer. The Doc cuts, they test while you have a cup of coffee, the tests show where any remains and they cut again. Repeat until clear (I had one bout with a squamous cell area on my ear that took several hours but it is ALL gone – from there anyway!) . The key thing is ALL of the cancer is removed. BIG plus. Good luck and prayers and good wishes for you.
Okay. The deed is done and the squamous cell is no more. And I’m cranky. Not because of the needle that hurts like heck when they numb the spot. Not because it took them three times to remove all the cancer. But the after care is going to be very inconvenient. No exercise for two days (which isn’t so bad, but I don’t dare do my morning stretches). No glass of wine with dinner (boo!) No getting the pressure bandage wet for two days (which means my hair will look like gunk). And I’m supposed to have the stitches removed in ten days–only I’ll be in CA on vacation. My husband offered to take them out (he’s an engineer and would probably do an excellent job); when I mentioned that to the nurse, she asked if he’d ever done it. I didn’t have the nerve to say he’d removed his own stitches. And they wouldn’t think of taking out the stitches one day earlier while we’re still in FL. The nurse suggested we find a walk-in clinic. That will probably be one costly appointment for a 30 second procedure. But hey, I’m cancer-free!
So now I’m done complaining. Thanks to all of you for your encouragement and reassurance. All in all, I have nothing to complain about and everything for which to grateful.
So glad things went well!
You are back to ornery. The healing process is underway.
You’re getting to know me well, P!
Yay. So glad it went well. ?
Whew! So glad you’re through this Susan. My husband had a serious one last year and he’s ususally pretty stoic, but this was pretty challenging. All is good now.
Happy Vacation :)
Baruch HaShem, SQ!