Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: April 11, 2015
I found myself in the right spot, waiting for my first consultation with a specialist—a Mohs surgeon who would eventually carry out a precise microscopically controlled procedure to excise the basal cell carcinoma my dermatologist had detected on my forehead.
Skin cancer. Really? I can’t possibly be old enough for that. Skin cancer is something that happens to older folks or those who misuse tanning beds.
Yet, I knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. My sister had battled melanoma at just 28—neither ancient nor a reckless tanner. Clearly, we inherited some unfortunate skin genes. However, I recognized my fortunate position; basal cell carcinoma is the “better” kind of skin cancer. It grows slowly and is relatively simple to treat. The success rate following Mohs surgery lies between 97 and 99.9 percent. In contrast, melanoma is the aggressive, metastatic, and terrifying version of skin cancer.
As I sat there, I realized I might be the luckiest person in this waiting room—not just due to my youth. Others here had received far graver diagnoses than mine.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the receptionist’s voice cut through my thoughts.
Was she addressing me?
“Ma’am,” she repeated, meeting my gaze as she extended her hand across the counter. “Here’s your card back. It’ll just be a few more minutes.”
“Ma’am”? What in the world?! I thought, crossing the room to reclaim my insurance card. She looked at least five years older than me.
As I returned to my seat, I caught a glimpse of myself in the waiting room mirror—who decided a mirror was necessary in a dermatology office? I looked like a “ma’am.” A 35-year-old mother of three. And that’s precisely what I was.
When did that happen?
Just yesterday, I felt like I was in college, yet here I was, reflecting on my life as a mother. I can hardly believe I have a child in elementary school already, and the memories of the Baby Days are starting to fade. Perhaps the sleep deprivation has something to do with that. I’m at an age where routine cholesterol checks are necessary, and instead of wedding announcements, my friends now share news of divorces. My social media feeds have shifted from baby bump photos to pictures of kids on bicycles and tweens with unruly hair. Instead of hearing “My mom has cancer,” I now hear “I have cancer.”
How did this transformation occur?
I always assumed that I would recognize when I was growing up, that I would somehow feel different, more enlightened. Instead, I feel the same.
Recently, I was outside with my friend while our kids reveled in one of the first warm days of spring. Some played pirates in the playhouse, while others drew with sidewalk chalk. I shared my skin cancer news with her.
“Are you alright?” she inquired.
“I’m fine. My surgery is scheduled for May. It’ll be over, and I’ll be alright,” I assured both her and myself.
“I mean, emotionally?”
As we observed our children joyfully decorating themselves with chalk, I reflected on our carefree youth.
“I just feel like a damn grown-up,” I confessed, “and it’s frustrating.”
Then, I called the kids over—time to reapply their sunscreen.
This narrative highlights the often-overlooked realities of parenthood, skin health, and the unexpected challenges that accompany growing older. If you’re interested in exploring the journey of conceiving and home insemination, check out this couples fertility journey. For further insights into the biological aspects, this resource on genetics and IVF is excellent. You can also find out more about healthy snacks for families at this trail mix blog.
In summary, the author navigates the complexities of motherhood, health concerns, and the realization of aging, all while emphasizing the importance of perspective and gratitude in challenging times.