I'm an artist. I've never really believed those words, but I am. I always have been.
First was ballet. I was never going to be the best ballerina. I have a barrel rib cage, a short neck, and little to no coordination. But I loved it. I didn't love ballet class. I was kind of a clown in class. Once I wrote a letter to my teacher, telling her I was sick so that I could get out of class. I signed Mama's name to it. We were on our way to ballet class at Huntington College. Anne McCabe and I sat in the back seat as I asked how to spell "threw" like "threw up." I'm pretty sure I spelled it "through up." That, combined with my youthful handwriting (I'm not sure I was more than 5 or 6 at the time) was enough to land me in a lot of trouble. I did not get out of class that day. And I'd bet money on a spanking.
No, I didn't love dance class. But I loved, with a passion, to be on stage. I danced in Nutcracker for several years. Spring recitals were always so much fun. As I am typing, I am vividly remembering that dance class in Spring semester was spent preparing for the Spring recital. Hands swinging high, pas de bourree, hips rocking...all to The Little Mermaid's "Under the Sea." Performance on the Green in August. An outdoor stage. August in Alabama. Closed eyes to the sky. Sun peeping between dense evergreen branches. Arms stretched out. Spin. That wasn't part of the dance...just part of the experience. Getting lost in the whole experience...in a good way.
I quit ballet and found Speech and Debate, and later theater. I had teachers and friends of who nurtured my talent and love of performance. And it paid off. State and National competitions in Forensics. Travel. Bad Seed. "Mom? Yes, Rhoda?" Mama said that watching me act out Forensics pieces was like watching someone with split personalities jump back and forth. I thought that was the ultimate compliment. Theater was kind of like Forensics, but next level. Forensics prepared me for theater. So did dance. Prepared me for Polly. Crazy for You: A Gershwin Musical. Lost lines. Recovered. Hot mic. Tap dancing. White dress. Bright lights. Hands held. Arms up. Big bow.
And then it was over. But was it? I've spent a lot of time in my career in front of people leading meetings, leading projects, and presenting. All of my experiences on stage have prepared me for these moments. I still get a little excited, like I once did before a performance...adrenalin surging. But I'm not scared. I'm prepared.
My art now is limited by time, but I paint. I prefer acrylics and pastels, but I also love working with watercolor and charcoal. Oil is not my medium. I paint for fun and for close family and friends, and I would love to do more of it. Every once in a while I start something, and then I have to clean up the house for one reason or another...and there it sits, prepped for its future moment, a work in progress.
Yesterday I had my post op appointment with the surgical oncologist. He gave me a hug, checked my excision site, and asked me if I had any questions. I asked him to describe exactly what he did...because my excision site looked far more I-don't-know-what than what I expected. Warning that there are pics posted below if you scroll down low enough. It looks like a shark bite. Dr. Sharma explained that my skin is very taught. That's something that I've always felt like was a good thing. But apparently when they're cut out a 3-4 cm diameter circle, they have to be able to pull it back together to close it. So Dr. Sharma took an area that's kind of rainbow shaped from the area outside of that circle. Then he used that area to graft my leg. The procedure is called a Keystone flap. And boy, does it seem excessive for a 6mm lesion. Dr. Sharma is an artist. He says I shouldn't have a scar when it heals. I laughed out loud when he said that. I think he is also a comedian.
After explaining the procedure with the drawing (below), Dr. Sharma asked if I was ready for good news? An overwhelming wave of relief came over my body as he asked the question, and I answered yes. I didn't even realize how physically tense I was in anticipation of these results...the pathology from the chunk he took last week in surgery was clear. No melanoma. No lymph invasion. No nervous invasion. No vascular invasion. They got it all with the biopsy. Overwhelming relief. Now I can relax, right? It's gone.
Dr. Sharma did want to send my biopsy off to a company who performs a special genetic test that can tell with a 98.5% confidence level, whether the risk of metastasis (spread to other organs) is low, middle or high risk in 5 years. But as it turns out, there wasn't enough tissue left to do that. That's disappointing. But it is only disappointing. Let me be very clear bad news would have been traumatic. This isn't traumatic...it's just disappointing.
There is no treatment for my Melanoma Stage 1a. Only surgery. But there is follow up...and lots of it. I just graduated from seeing my Oncologist every 6 months for breast cancer. Now I get to see my surgical oncologist and my oncologist annually. And I get to see my Dermatologist every 3-4 months for the rest of my life. As Dr. Sharma says, my Dermatologist is going to be my new BFF. I'll take it. It's better than the alternative.
The dreaded alternative. I would be lying to myself if I didn't talk about it. There was a little of that the first time around with breast cancer. I thought about what life might be like for others if I died of breast cancer at some point. It was easier to imagine that happening when the boys were younger. Nate would have moved on, the boys wouldn't have really known me. They wouldn't remember the trauma. It would just be an unfair thing that happened to them. I have wondered how my parents would feel...my sisters. How James would feel. Jimmy and Lizzy. My friends. And every year it got harder to imagine as I formed these bonds with people who I cannot imagine living without. That is a heavy burden to carry. It is a lifetime burden. It's like always waiting for something and willing it not to happen. There is so much anxiety in that. If you know a survivor, this is your sign to reach out to them and let them know that you know it isn't over for them. So there was a little bit of that with breast cancer. And by little bit, I mean that, from time to time, I thought about it, but never let it overcome me. They were little. I was strong.
This time around has been different. It's been emotionally challenging. It's been challenging to keep my emotions from going down a rabbit hole. I am a different person now. I am stronger. I'm more faithful. I have spent years building actual relationships with my husband James and the four children between us. I am invested fully in my faith, my family and our future. So there's a frank element of how bad this could have been that resonates with me differently this time around, and if I am being completely honest, it's been scary.
But it's not bad. I caught it early. I got into the doctor. They did what they were supposed to do. They persisted. I thank God every day that he built me strong and courageous, and that He prepared me for this. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer. There's God in all of this, and it seems silly to think, "Thank God for my breast cancer," but I mean that with my whole heart. I'm not sure that I would have thought anything about that little pink bump if I wasn't hyperaware of changes in and of my body...all thanks to breast cancer.
I don't know what God has planned, but I trust that it is good and useful. I do pray that there is peace in the waiting. What I do know is that, figuratively speaking, my hands are up to the sky. My eyes are closed, and I am just soaking it all in. Perhaps I have been called for such a time as this. At the very least I am prepared...and a work in progress.
Wide Local Excision of Melanoma with Keystone Flap surgical plan:
WARNING AGAIN: Graphic pics below
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