Today is day 12 that I've been waiting for the phone to
ring. I am not afraid. For I know that no matter what my doctor says, I am
whole and I am healed and I will live forever. But most importantly I know
that, whatever happens, God is good all the time. I know this in my bones.
But still, this has been a super rough 12 days. When she
did the biopsy I barely flinched. My doctor is pregnant with a baby girl and I
was busy cooing. As she removed the mole, I was preoccupied talking about baby
names and how hard it is to be pregnant through the August heat. She and I have
become good friends over this last difficult year.
It wasn't til later that night when the bandaid fell off
that I gave the site a second thought. It was angry. Dark purple around the
edges and black in the middle. I gasped and Jon came into the bathroom,
examined the site, and with big eyes, put one hand over his mouth and shook his
head. We've been here before.
And that's the real problem. I know the toll this takes
on my family. It throws off our family rhythm,
it's exhausting for everyone, and it's expensive. Plus, I don't love
surgery, and after the first few days when the happy pain pills wear off, I get
cabin fever and I get whiny. I get tired of asking for a drink of water, I get
tired of needing help to get dressed and I will always be tired of needing help
to get to the bathroom. I'm the mom, and these things put me in opposite-land.
Also, I simply don't have time for surgery right now.
It's almost summertime, and I have wonderful plans. May graduates college this
Saturday and we have much planning to do for her wedding. Summer is coming home
from studying in the mountains for the semester. I haven't seen her since
February! Her and I have months of coffee and tea time to make up for. And my
baby sister and her husband are coming to stay with us in two weeks, from very
far across the pond, and bringing my new nephew who I have only seen in
pictures and not yet smelled the top of his sweet baby head. Plus, Jazi loves
to go to Laguna now with her friends, of course drenched in sunscreen, but I
love driving them all there, we roll down the windows and blast Aurora on the
stereo. It makes me feel like one of the girls. And in June we are traveling to
Oregon to see my brother finally wed his lovely lady of 20 years. And my other
sister and nieces and nephews are flying out from Tennessee and we have several
beach days planned.
I have purchased a very wide brimmed hat and a sun-protection shawl and painted my toes bright watermelon pink, so as you can see,
I simply have no time for melanoma.
I hope God gets my memo about this. Maybe the fall would
work better for me, I could probably squeeze it in after my birthday in
September but before Thanksgiving, or maybe even after Christmas but before the
new year, like last year's surgery. That is better timing for me.
But I'd really like this summer to be cancer free. Free
is such a great word. Free to splash in the waves, free to spread my toes in
the warm sand, free to eat tuna sandwiches with sweet pickles while I watch the
kids make sandcastles. You can take the melanoma out of the girl, but you can't
take the beach out of the girl.
I promise to where my hat.
I promise to where my shawl.
I promise to wear my sunscreen.
I promise.
So now can the phone please ring?