At work this past week, I sat through a presentation by Jeanne Sather discussing how she came to blog. Her site, assertivepatient.com, is about Jeanne’s experiences dealing with cancer. Throughout her presentation reviewing some of the articles she’s posted, you could hear the determination and conviction that Jeanne has for living, along with her own unique humor, including “Breast-Cancer Barbie”.

Her discussion reminded me about some new expressions that I’ve now become familiar with; “oncology” and “in situ” (definition). For me, the cancer was melanoma; skin cancer in the form of a mole on my forehead, surgically removed. The story starts out more like this; I have rather large, flat, oddly-shaped, quarter or dime-shaped moles over my chest, arms, and one (now removed) on my forehead. These moles are susceptible to melanoma, as my parents will testify. My mother, concerned with the shape and color of the one on my forehead suggested in her motherly way (repeatedly) to see a dermatologist about it. I finally did.

The dermatologist recommended surgery for three moles that seemed “suspicious” rather than doing tests on them. Previous to this visit with the doctor, our family had visited Japan to pay respects to Masako’s grandmother who died of ovarian cancer 2 days before we could get there. (Ovarian cancer is apparently fast spreading, or was in her grandmother, who died very quickly.) Masako and Mason decided to stay in Japan over the Christmas and New Years holidays, while I had my doctor’s appointments.

The surgeon who removed my cancerous mole called me 3 days before Christmas to explain that 1) I had melanoma, 2) it was “in situ” (which I wrote down as “in cite two” to which I later told my parents was “in stage two” not knowing what any of it meant), 3) they would have to ASAP remove more of my forehead (still very much in pain) to make sure all of the bad tissue was removed, and 4) she was leaving for the holidays but “here’s my referral”. Oh…

I was home alone over the holidays with “stage two” cancer and surgery wounds on my back, stomach, and most painful, forehead. (I had never really noticed before how often I use the skin around my forehead; looking up, sideways, laughing (VERY painful), sneezing, you name it, a nice tug on those very sensitive stitches…)

So, while the rest of the tissue has now been removed (without any additional traces of cancer), and my forehead is still healing, the experience made me appreciate even more the insights that Jeanne offers…

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