Black is the New Pink

I'm at the tail end of GenX. Some might call me a #Xennial (a mix between #GenX and #Millennial). I don't really get it...Here's what I do get...

I have a strong affinity for music that moves me, but I'm not tied to any specific genre. 

My first love of music was classical, likely because of the exposure through ballet.

I was brought up on 50s and 60s music...Leader of the Pack, My Boyfriend's Back, Great Balls of Fire, Splish Splash...We used to buy these cassette tape sets at the grocery store around the corner. Mama would take us into Super Foods, and the people behind the finance counter where they cashed paychecks would wave, oohing and ahhing about how much we were growing "like weeds." At some point during our grocery trip, we would approach an endcap with the cassette tape sets and beg Mama for the next one in the series. If I recall correctly, they had a light turquoise label on them. There were two songs  on each side. It was like listening to your own personal juke box in the car. The way we belted those songs out, you would think that we had prophesized American Idol. 

I used to belt out Whitney Houston, David Lee Roth, Bon Jovi and Wilson Phillips on the patio with my pink Casio boombox. Man, were we cool. And hot...soaking up the Alabama sunshine on the patio, the beach, by the pool, all while blasting that boombox. It was pink.

Tiffany and her boyfriend Craig later introduced me to 90s country. I listened to Tiff and her friends sing Garth Brooks's "Friends in Low Places," and cringed when they sang "oooooasis." Craig had a karaoke machine that he would bring to the lake, and he even let me sing a duet with him once. I thought that was so cool.

I have always loved music at church. I've referenced the Song of Simeon before, and it still sends shivers down my spine when harmonized. I listened to a rendition from #CampMcDowell today, and it gave me all the feels.

I was later introduced to Blind Melon, Dixie Chicks (aka The Chicks), Pink Floyd, The Police, Phish, Medeski Martin and Wood, John Coltrane. I just love music. Some things never change. 

James and I have really connected over music. A few years ago, we were meeting in Nashville to see Mumford & Sons...it was a bucket list item for both of us, and we were so excited. I sat in the airport at the gate marked "Detroit," where I had a connection. I was jamming...and I mean jam-ming out on my earbuds to Mumford & Sons. I finally looked up, thinking we should have boarded, and the gate still had my flight info. I removed my earbuds, looked around at the lack of passengers at my gate, and walked around. My gate changed. They paged me overhead...not one, not two, but three times. I missed the flight. James picked me up from the Nashville airport and we pulled into our hotel right as concert goers were leaving the venue. We missed the concert of a lifetime. And why? I wasn't paying attention. I was distracted. I let my guard down. Still, he loved me. Still, he loves me.

So that's music. I was raised on TGIF and CW television...Family Matters, Full House, The Hogan Family, 7th Heaven. And in college I was obsessed with all things Friends, Sex and the City, ER, and The OC. I watched the Challenger live. I remember credible and unbiased news...before people were beautiful and scripted across the globe. 

I remember hearing about the information superhighway...one day we would be able to hold tiny computers in our hands and drive flying cars. One out of two ain't bad. 

Do Millennials remember when pink was the new black? Or why that was? Everyone, and I mean everyone was wearing black. It was everywhere. My entire high school wardrobe was from The Limited. I wore black suits to school...complete with big, chunky shoes (and purple eyeliner/mascara). I thought I was so stylish...my style icon was Posh Spice (aka Victoria Beckham, who is still quite frankly a fashion plate). My art teacher Mrs. Terry once told me that I was so fashionable, and I thought, "Right...because I wear black!"

And then pink was the new black. It was the universally flattering hue. It was a Clueless, Legally Blonde, and Mean Girls decade of pink. I had pink sweaters, pink dresses, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink.

I don't remember what came after that. Adulthood, marriage, motherhood, job loss, breast cancer (more pink), divorce, remarriage, puppies. It's all a blur. I never felt like a Millennial. I feel like I have lived too much life to even be considered a Xennial. Somedays I even feel like a Boomer. I bet they never wore pink...except maybe in the 80s. Yes, hot pink. Not the same. Nope, not Boomer pink. And Millennial pink was more rose gold. I am definitely GenX pink.

GenX is weird. We are the end of microfilm and microfiche and the beginning of credible sources on the internet. We are first computers in our homes (but only if you had money). We are MTV, VH1 and CMT. We are trophies only for winners. We are multi-colored scrunched double socks and side ponytails. We are crimped bangs and rolls of cash in our bras. We are sike your mama and hours on a trampoline. We love our weird. I think that's the biggest difference in GenX and Millennials. Millennials don't want to be weird. They want to be different from each other, but fit in with everyone. Huh? GenX embraces its weirdness.

Fast forward to 2021. Stupid CoVID. Everyone is exhausted. I need a vacation. James and I booked a vacation to St. Thomas for August. It's our place. It's our lie in the sun with a champagne in one hand and a book in the other place. And there it was...pink. There was a little bump on my leg...kind of flat, translucent almost. It didn't itch. It wasn't dry and flaky. Just a little, flat pink bump. Right near my left knee. I ignored it. I was in St. Thomas. In the sun. With champagne and a book. I never get to read. I refused to think about it. How do do stop thinking about it when all you can think about is not thinking about it? Stupid pink bump.

In October, I celebrated 10 years in remission from breast cancer. I have graduated! It was such a cool feeling. I was taken off of Tamoxifen after 10 years. Couldn't wait to go through hormone regulation. Not. What-ever...10 years. That is really something. No more pink.

A week later I got CoVID. Great year to name your dog Delta. I repeatedly tell people, "After the airline, not the variant." It didn't age well. When I was at my Primary Care office, I asked my doctor about the pink bump, which was no longer flat. It was pretty round, but it was kind of bulbous. A little irregular around the edges, but not dramatically so. And it was pink. Likely nothing to worry about, she said, but she took a picture and sent it off to Dermatology for review. That's neat how they can do that now. She snapped it with her iPhone and off it went to Derm. Derm called the next day. They were not worried about what they saw. They booked an appointment for me to come in on Dec 21. No big deal. It was pink.

On December 21, I went to my Dermatology appointment. Still pink, and no visible changes from October (or so I thought before looking back at pictures). I was the first patient she saw fresh off maternity leave with her first baby. We had some great chit chat about babies and my breast cancer history. The conversation was light...it was pink. She looked at my bump with her dermatoscope and said, "Well, normally when something is pink I can tell the patient not to worry about it because I know it is benign, but in this case I can't definitively say that. So I'd like to cut this off and send it off to Pathology if you're okay with me doing that today." I won't lie...I expected that. I was fine with that. I couldn't feel anything. She did a great job of numbing me up. As she placed the bandage, I thought I might pass out. I told her that my body must be more nervous than my brain. Anxiety is a weird thing. I needed a Xanax. My Xanax is pink. 

Christmas came and went. New Years came and went. Still no results 2 weeks later. I know enough to know that is odd. I called Dermatology. The doctor told me that there wasn't report to share. My pink bump is weird. Oh, great. Another weird tumor. When I told James, he responded without skipping a beat, "I always knew you were one of a kind." Love him. I thought, "Did you also always know I was so much trouble?"  I didn't ask. I already knew what he would say. He would say I was worth every ounce. 

My pink bump was weird. It was GenX weird..kinda weird, kinda gangster weird. It was so weird, in fact, that they didn't know what it was. It was, with certainty, either melanoma or something called an Atypical Spitz Tumor of Unknown Malignant Potential. Melanoma is the worst and most aggressive type of skin cancer. It has a tendency to spread or metastasize quickly. It is black (or pigmented) 95% of the time. That's why it is represented by a black ribbon (kin to breast cancer's pink ribbon). It is often easy to spot. 5% of the time it is pink, or amelanotic. Atypical Spitz Tumors (ASTs) are the #1 misdiagnosed skin condition. They also account for only about 1% of skin diagnoses. The pathologists don't love this diagnosis because, as it states in the name, it has an unpredictable malignancy. It could be deadly, or it could do nothing. An even smaller percentage of these are amelanotic. What we do know is that it is a tumor. A weird tumor. So my weird tumor took a vacation to San Francisco two weeks after my biopsy. I've been there (in whole) twice. The bushman scared me half to death - my friend Jacci died laughing. Alcatraz is haunting (and cold). Loved it. I'd go back...preferably all of me though. There is a Dermatopathologist at UCSF who specializes in melanocytic lesions. So until they have given a report, I won't know what it is. Is it pink? Or is it black?

I ended up calling UCSF a couple of weeks later. It was the end of January...4 weeks since my biopsy. I'm impatient and this whole thing was getting a little more than a little distracting. I was transferred a few times, but was ultimately connected to William in Dr. Leboit's lab. He was so informative...he told me that Dr. Leboit stained the tissue yet again, and that he came up with the same inconclusive answer that they came up with here in central Wisconsin. And he's the guy for melanomas. They ran a special panel of 500 gene tests, and it would take 4 weeks. That started on January 12, so my results would be delayed until at least Feb 9. Awesome. My birthday. At least I had a timeline. I had some hope.

I contacted my Oncologist, who referred me immediately to Surgical Oncology. James and I were able to visit with him that day, and he was amazing! He presented me with all options, and explained everything thoroughly and with compassion. He specializes in melanoma excision (removal). Surgery was scheduled for February 17. 

Today my Dermatologist called me to tell me that the pathology report came in. I have a gene mutation that was inconsistent with the stain. Without the genetic testing, I most certainly wouldn't have been diagnosed properly. Today I was diagnosed with invasive amelanotic melanoma. Black. Pink...but really black. Black. Breathe. Here's the good news: there is no evidence of lymph, vascular, or nerve invasion. This could be way worse. It isn't deep. It isn't multiplying rapidly. I will have an ultrasound tomorrow to make sure there isn't any reason to have a lymph node biopsy Thursday. That's the only thing that would change anything for surgery. We had already chosen the aggressive wider excision would have been required if the report came back as melanoma. I'm going to have one seriously cool scar on my leg...roughly 7 inches long when it's all said and done. I bet it ends up being pink. 

I have a million questions. Is my melanoma linked to my breast cancer?  Do I have other genetic mutations that predispose me to other types of cancer? How does a 43 year old woman have 2 different primary cancers in 10 years? How am I 43 years old already? What does this mean for my biological children? For my sisters? For my parents? I've been referred to a Genetic Counselor, so I'm reopening the blog I started almost 11 years ago so that I can process this and share the information as I learn it. Genetic testing has come a loooong way in 10 years when I had the BRCA testing. It's fascinating.

I can share this...I think I needed a wake up call. God has a funny way of doing that, you know...when you're not paying attention...when you're distracted...when you let your guard down. And yet, He shows you with compassion that you need to wake up...check your priorities...refocus. Be still, He loved you first. Be still, He loves you. And by you I mean me...and I also mean you. So if you're reading this and you need a wake up call, maybe I'm taking one for the team (also compliments of GenX). I have had so many people tell me over the years that my breast cancer story helped them to be their own advocate in healthcare, brought awareness of changes in their own bodies, and empowered them to have things checked. My hope and prayer is that, by sharing my story this time around, one person may look at a pink bump or a mole or a scaly patch and have it checked. It's not all about checking the tata's. I've traded in my breast cancer pink for melanoma black. Black is back, baby. Black is the new pink.