I’m one of the lucky ones, they say. I never had to undergo chemo or radiation,
and all my lymph nodes are still in place, but the truth of the matter is that
melanoma changed me completely. I was
diagnosed at 18 during my freshman year of college. The year prior was full of events that
required me to be in evening gowns. There was prom, then the yearly pageant my
school held, and don’t forget about those awful vocal music dresses that surely
looked better on me when my skin was tan. Those moments in a tanning bed,
defined my future. While my friends were
vacationing during Spring Break, I was undergoing a wide excision surgery to
remove six inches, vertically and horizontally, skin on my back all the way down to the muscle. This surgery
was my cure, but it wasn’t completely healing, because the emotional scar runs
a bit deeper and has lasted far longer.
The misconception
associated with the word melanoma is that it will simply be cut out and
everything will be fine. I can’t tell
you how many of my friends spoke those exact words to me when I shared my
diagnosis with them. Quite frankly,
until I had my doctor tell me that there may be a chance that I could only have
five to seven years left to live depending on my test results, I didn’t
understand the severity either. My friends
couldn’t understand the situation I was in and it wasn’t because I had
surrounded myself with people weren’t able to feel empathy; it was because they
simply weren’t educated.
My family, they
became my saviors, the people I laughed with to distract me from the constant
terror I felt in my stomach, the people who held me when I cried, and the
people who found strength for me when I
couldn’t find it in myself. In fact, it was my mom, who saved me. She was the
one who had noticed the mole on my upper back that had gradually became dark
black and she was the one who called me with the information from the doctor of
my diagnosis. Often times, I still wonder how she found the strength to call me,
her only daughter, to tell me I had cancer.
My melanoma diagnosis didn’t just emotionally scar me; it scarred every
person in my family.
Life after melanoma is different to say the least. I’m
far more cautious and I’m often fearful of reoccurrence. For the rest of my
life, every six months, I will visit my dermatologist. I sit undressed in a
brightly lit exam room while my doctor goes over every inch of my skin. These
checks, more often than not, end with a biopsy of a something that looks
suspicious leaving an open wound on my skin that takes weeks to heal. I then
prepare myself to tell my loved ones that we are, yet again
waiting on pathology reports. The
chance of reoccurrence for me is 2% and while that may seem like a very small
number, it is actually quite large in relation to melanoma.
I never dreamed that before I graduated college and said
I do, I would be a cancer survivor, but it is my reality. I wasn’t
lucky, I was blessed and I feel strongly that I am meant to educate others on how
to care for your skin. Unfortunately, I wasn’t educated on the effects of
tanning, but don’t let that be your excuse. Don’t be like me. Your desire
shouldn’t be getting tan. Your desire should be to stay alive because it is that serious. Educate yourself
before you find yourself in a situation that educates you.
