There are two words in the english dictionary that I absolutely hate. Both of them start with the letter "C" The first is a horrible word that I hope I'm never associated with and the other is one that I prayed I'd never have. Unfortunately, a week ago I was labeled with one of them and tomorrow I undergo a surgical procedure to hopefully get rid of it.
I am fortunate that malignant Basal Cell Carcinoma's are rarely fatal. Unfortunately, they can be very disfiguring and mine happens to be smack dab in the middle of my face. Quite honestly, if it was on my ass, I wouldn't be half as freaked out as I am tonight, but it isn't and I have to deal with the fact that as of tomorrow morning at 9:30 a.m., my face is never going to look the same again. This might mean that I am forever going to have a small indentation on the side of my nose or it could mean that a lot more tissue will need to be removed and leave me with less than a nose, cheek, who knows... I won't know until they get in there and start the procedure.
I am having "Mohs" surgery. For those of you unfamiliar with this procedure. It is where they dissect the area where the tumor is and a small perimeter of tissue around it. That tissue is removed, cut into four equal pieces, frozen prepared on a slide and then looked looked at under a microscope. If I am fortunate, there won't be any cancerous cells in the surrounding tissue and they can close my wound, stitch me up and send my on my way. If it turns out that there are more malignant cells in the surrounding tissue, they go back and repeat this procedure until the slides do come back clean. This process can take from just a couple hours to an all day process. I am praying I will be out of there by lunch.
Basal Cell Carcinomas grow rootlike extensions that spread under the skin and can go pretty deep. The good news is that it is a slow growing cancer, the bad news is that I have had this cancerous lesion for over 3 years and never ever in my wildest dreams thought it was skin cancer. I just thought I had a plugged pore. So, the little bugger has had quite some time to grow unbeknownst to me.
So, my message to all the wonderful people in my life is PLEASE get your skin checked regularly. If I hadn't gone to the dermatologist for some acne I was experiencing, I never would have known I had it.
There are so many thoughts and questions swimming around in my head right now (and for the past week of sleepless nights.) I am sure most are irrational, but they are my genuine none the less...
Am I going to be horribly disfigured? If so, will my husband ever look at me and think that I am beautiful again after tomorrow? Will they want me to continue on in my present position if I end up looking freakish? Should I resign as a Glambassador for Glamour? Am I a horrible person for being so vane? What if it has spread? Could this be the beginning of the end?! I know, I know that I'm being overly dramatic, but I would be lying if I said those thoughts haven't crossed my mind. My husbands uncle had a gaping hole in his face where his nose used to be and my best friend lost her life to a form of skin cancer that ended up in her brain. Both extreme cases and both not likely to be completely different then mine. But, I can't help but go there in my mind.
My prayer is that tomorrow I am going to be horribly embarrassed for being so dramatic and over the top scared in my disclosure and that I will have this ridiculously little wound with a single stitch and a smiley face bandage when I return home an hour later. Until then, thank you to all my dear friends that have shown much love and support for me. It truly means the world to me.
Goodnight, sleep tight.
