Your skin never forgets.
January 2011 was the year that changed my life. I moved to Nashville, Tennessee to pursue new adventures. After job hunting and interviewing for a few months, I was offered a job at Vanderbilt University and was thrilled to take the next step in my journey. I knew one person when I moved here. That’s right, one. It was a new challenge in so many ways.
Knowing that I would soon be moving and switching health insurance plans with a new job, I preemptively scheduled all the doctor’s visits I would need for the next year, just to be safe. I went ahead and scheduled a dermatologist appointment at a doctor in Wisconsin just to get checked over. Basil Cell Carcinoma ran in my family, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to get a good once-over before I moved away seeing as new patient appointments for dermatology here in Nashville seem to schedule out 6 months in advance. At my appointment, I pointed out a few moles that I thought looked questionable, but my doctor didn’t seem concerned about those. However, she did find something that worried her on my left side. She took a biopsy of the mole, which basically means they remove it and stitch it up, and I went on my merry way. No big deal.
On January, 20th I noticed a missed call and voicemail from my doctor’s office. Weird. I didn’t even listen to it until after lunch, as I could barely remember why on earth the doctor would be calling me. I finally listened to my voicemail, and it was my actual dermatologist in the message, not her nurse, and she instructed me to call her back on her cell phone. I immediately panicked. Why on earth would she be calling me on her personal cell phone? I called her back and naturally, she didn’t answer. Now freaking out, I called my doctor’s office next hoping to get a hold of someone…anyone. Well, I did get a hold of someone, and in hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have been the one to tell me, but they said that nasty sentence, that I hope to never hear again: “You have Melanoma.”. WHAT? I was 27 years old. How do I have melanoma? 100 questions raced through my head. How bad is it? How did I get this? Why me? Can you fix it? Am I going to die?
I was terrified and immediately shut my office door and began to hysterically sob. I had just accepted a job in Nashville, and was about to make the move of a lifetime, and now I wasn’t sure if I would make it to see next year. The nurse tried to console me, and tried to tell me that there was a lot they could do for me, but that they would have to schedule surgery as soon as possible to remove the tumor and remove some lymph nodes for a biopsy to see if it had spread. “Spread?!” Holy shit. I was still in tears, trying to comprehend what had happened. I was told I would receive a call from the hospital to schedule my surgery. “Surgery??” Unfortunately, surgery for melanoma is far more than just a little snip snip around the mole. They have to remove a larger portion of tissue down to the muscle (or wide local excision), which requires the help of a plastic surgeon. My dermatologist then called me back, to further explain. I had Melanoma, and from what she could tell, it was probably its earlier stages. Judging from the size and depth, however, they weren’t able to tell me for sure if it had spread into my lymphatic system or not. The only way they could tell for sure would be by removing lymph nodes.
I was able to get in for surgery on February 7th, and then would have to wait a week to get the results from my lymph node biopsy. Needless to say, it was the longest four weeks ever. I remember trying my hardest to live in the moment. I spent a lot of time praying, and a lot of time thinking about my life. I had just run my third marathon that past October, and I’d be damned if I was going to let this thing called cancer bring me down. If I could run those 26.2, I told myself I could surely beat this too. I built strength on that very thought.
Early Detection is Key
Those of you who don’t know much about melanoma, once it has spread to the lymph nodes, the prognosis becomes less and less positive. Early stages of Melanoma can usually be cured with surgery. Melanoma past Stage ll is very, very hard to cure, and has a high rate of reoccurrence elsewhere in the body. Because of these statistics, and the uncertainty of my cancer stage, I was terrified. What was weird though, was that I didn’t tell many people about what was going on. I didn’t want them to worry about me. I wanted to keep this whole ordeal to myself until I actually knew something. No sense in making people worry for no reason, right? Wrong. I would urge people to seek support. Those four weeks were stressful and anxiety-ridden, and talking about it seemed to help, so I should have done more talking. Talking helps one feel less alone. The more talking you do, the more people you realize have been through the same thing, or know someone who has. That is why now, I feel I can and should go public with this story. You also can’t go through life refusing people’s help. I learned even greater importance of this when I gave birth to my first baby. Let people who love you help you. If anything, let them listen.
On February 7th, I underwent surgery. I was still being stubborn of course, and told my parents that they didn’t need to be there and that I would be fine. Silly, stupid me! Luckily, my Mom and sister knew better and showed up to pick me up from surgery against my best wishes.
First. I had to be injected with blue dye for my sentinel node biopsy. For this, blue dye is injected into the skin around the tumor, and the dye passes into the lymph fluid, tracing its path. The blue color is picked up first by the node closest to the tumor, which is referred to as the sentinel node. Sometimes there are one or more other sentinel nodes as well, which should also show up in the dye and radioactive tracer tests. Armed with the findings from this lymphatic mapping, the surgeon can at first remove only the sentinel nodes. (source) This part, was actually the worst part. They did five dye injections around the site, which was under my left breast, on my ribcage. And damn it, did that hurt. It burned like hell, and I couldn’t help from tearing up. I would prefer to never have done again. Good Lord.
Soon after, I was wheeled over to a room where they would prep me for surgery. My dear friend Janie was by my side throughout this whole thing. She gave me a ride to the hospital and stayed with me until I went under anesthesia. I will be forever grateful. I remember her ordering the doctor to give me anti-nausea meds. She kept harassing him about it to make sure they gave it to me (she was so on top of it, and that’s why I love her). I was too scared to say much of anything really. The doctors assured her that they had given me some. I was SO glad that they did, because I was sick as a dog upon waking up so who knows what it would have been like without that! Thank goodness for good friends. I counted to twenty, and I barely remember saying eighteen and off I went.
The recovery process was long. I had a 10-inch incision under my left breast, that extended to my left armpit. I had a smaller incision under my armpit, and a drainage tube to allow access fluid from my lymph node removal to drain. And, it was purple. That’s right, my skin in that area was a deep, dark purple. I had no idea skin could be that color. I knew it looked bad when my sister was trying to help me put my shirt on and she saw my incisions and winced. She’s a tough gal, and if she winces at something, you know it ain’t pretty.
The surgeon was pleased with the outcome. They had removed a bunch of lymph nodes, I am actually not sure how many, but I know it was quite a few. They were able to remove the tissue that they needed to without having to do any skin graphs. I was lucky that the tumor was where it was. Now, it was time I went home to recover, and wait. I would find out on Valentine’s Day what my prognosis was. My Mom and sister stayed with me for a few days, and I was so happy they were both there for me.
I won’t bore you with my long week of recovery. But what I will say was that I thought I would be back to work after three days. YEAH RIGHT. Try an entire week. Silly 27-year-old me thinking I was invincible yet again. Valentine’s Day finally came around, after what seemed like years. I was shaking like a leaf driving to my surgeon’s office (which of course I insisted on going by myself – dumb). His name was Dr. King, and he was a lovely, kind, and genuine man. If you are in south-central Wisconsin, I highly recommend him.
I remember sitting there, shaking and praying, and praying and shaking. I never prayed (or shook) so hard. Dr. King came in with a big smile and said, “We got it all. Your lymph nodes are clear, and cancer free. My dear, you have dodged a bullet.” I impulsively flew out of my chair, hugged him, and thanked him about 25 times through choked-back tears. I remember he said, “Now, we’ll see if anyone can ever beat that Valentine’s Day gift.” I could finally breathe again. I felt like I had been holding my breath for a month (or maybe even longer than that) and I finally let it out with one big sigh of relief and joy. I had a few follow-up appointments in the coming months with oncologists and had a few more preventative medications to take, but the worst was over. I was going to be okay. Thank you, God.
How Nashville Saved My Life
After I started healing, I started to realize the significance of all this. People ask me why I chose to move to Nashville when I did, and I honestly do not know. Something kept drawing me here, but I couldn’t put a finger on it. And when I decided to make the move, everything fell together so easily I had no room for doubt in my mind. What I do know, is that I only scheduled that dermatologist appointment because I was moving away. I would have let it go a year or more if that move was not in the cards. I was told by my surgeon, that if I had waited a month or two longer to come in, my prognosis would likely have not been good, based on the rate it was growing. This is when I realized moving to Nashville saved my life. I showed up in Nashville bearing bright purple bruises, fresh scars, and a new outlook on life. Now I have an amazing husband and a beautiful 10-year-old girl to show for it.
I write all this now, NOT so people can feel bad for me. I write it because I don’t want anyone to ever, ever, have to go through this. I was lucky, “dodged a bullet” as my doctor said, and caught it early. However, there are many young people who are not as fortunate. About 86 percent of melanomas can be attributed to exposure to ultraviolet (UV) radiation from the sun. (source) so please protect your skin. I was guilty of tanning in my early 20′s and sat outside many summers as a lifeguard which did not help matters. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I now go to see the dermatologist every 3 months and have had no melanoma reoccurrence to date.
Since my surgery, my little sister went in to get herself checked out as well. Needless to say, she was scared too. Ironically, they found a small spot of pre-melanoma on her in the exact same spot that my cancer was, which they were able to promptly remove with minimal issues. Thank goodness she went in, or she may have been in the same boat as I was. Her spot, however, never progressed to melanoma because she got herself looked at by a doctor, right away.
Melanoma is the most common form of cancer for young adults 25-29 years old and the second most common form of cancer for young people 15-29 years old. (source) I urge everyone to be smart, and be aware. Please wear sunscreen and get your skin checked.
Your skin never forgets.