2 weeks ago I was diagnosed with melanoma. I had noticed a spot on my arm, the size of a pencil eraser that was raised with an uneven border and a bit of a reddish coloring to it. For 2 months I did nothing. I eventually scheduled an appointment with my dermatologist and he did his exam, not seeing anything remarkable. Thankfully, he checked the spot I was concerned about and biopsied it. A week later, he called to tell me I had melanoma, and that was all the information he gave me, other than to say he was sending it on for a second opinion and would call me in another week to tell me more.
The only experience I really had of melanoma, per say, was a dear friend who was diagnosed with melanoma and died 3 weeks later. Melanoma is such a fast moving, sneaky cancer, that if left untreated can be fatal quickly.
I shook and cried as I called Husband to tell him. He cried with me. It was like life stopped moving for us. And it kept on moving for everyone else. I was school shopping with Little Miss at the time and I had to continue shopping, wondering if it was the last time I'd be able to do that with her. That was a terrible feeling.
The times I struggled the most, as the days ticked by, were when I thought about missing my children. All 4 of our children are under the age of 11. So much of life is still in front of them. So many formative years. I didn't want to miss them for my sake. I didn't want them to miss me, for their sakes. I don't think I'm an awesome mom or anything, but I believe it is ingrained in every child to want a mom to love them because a mom loves like no one else can.
Somehow, at the same time, I felt so ready. I imagined a life void of depression, anxiety and mysophonia. Void of worrying about the next shoe to drop. Void of the pain that comes with our fallen world. Thinking of that - the relief from those things - gave me so much comfort. Knowing that I was going to get to the end of the race, holding the hand of Christ, and knowing my children were safe and cared for, provided such a feeling of peace and joy that I was surprised by it.
Later that week, the doctor called to say that it was melanoma in situ, meaning that it was contained and superficial. I felt like I had worried for nothing, but I was still worried, for some reason. He told me I would need to see the surgeon for an excision so it didn't become invasive. On Monday I went to the surgeon who said that the dermatologist had been wrong. It was indeed invasive and would need to be biopsied again to see what stage it actually was at.
4 more days we waited, until today, when she called to say that the margins were clear. The melanoma was gone. And that I would just need to have a wider excision, just to be on the safe side. That is yet to be scheduled.
I cried when I got off the phone with her. A wave of emotions have been hitting me over the course of the day. Strangely enough, the biggest emotion I primarily felt was disappointment. Disappointment that the thoughts that had brought me peace were not going to become reality.
Everyone laughs at me and points at my pessimism when I say that I have always expected to die young. Since I was a little girl, I have had that in my head. Unfortunately, baking myself in the sun was something I didn't really think would have an impact on that thought when I was a teenager. I went to tanning beds at least 40 times and got burnt on a regular basis, even to the point of sun poisoning once.
So when I learned I had melanoma, I didn't blame it on God, despite the fact that that is my usual, knee-jerk response. My overall thought was, "Okay, God. Let's do this." I knew He would walk beside me and I knew He didn't cause it.
Over the course of the last several years I have learned that I can't really cling to anything here because everything that I can see and touch is temporary. Everything is broken and in it's own pain and sometimes I am just on my own with God. The prospect of dying highlighted that reality even more these last couple of weeks. No one else can feel the feelings I feel, think the things I think or really understand what I'm experiencing because they just aren't me. And because of that, I have to rely on Him.
I don't understand what will happen next, what He desires of me, except to wake up each morning and ask Him. I am so grateful to know, in a new and different way, that comfort and peace do come from Him and the comfort of eternity gives joy.
I don't want to have cancer. This was caught at stage 1. It could come back. It could arrive somewhere else. My risk was high anyway - now it is higher. So, we may face this again, but now I know that the hope of eternity will be with it.
