When Rex was about six months old, I went to the doctors because I had a sore on my head that wouldn’t heal. First visit, antibiotic cream, second visit, steroid cream, third, fourth, fifth, sixth visit, stick with the cream, they said. Seventh visit and two years on with no improvement, I asked to be referred to a dermatologist. One look and the early diagnosis was basal cell skin cancer (BCC) and treatment would be to remove it.
BCCs are very common, so I’m told, affecting an area of skin and once removed, that’s it dealt with. However, nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of fear I felt at hearing the c-word. Now I just have to hope the histology report comes back clear. It never rains but it pours, right?
Today I had said area of skin removed in hospital, the timing of which couldn’t really have been worse. Just walking into theatre immediately brought back memories of my recent miscarriage surgery, and it was too much to hold in the tears when the theatre nurse told me not to worry. I feel like I’ve heard that a lot recently.
Truth is, so much has happened the past few months, I’ve not really had a chance to think about the results of this added health concern. I do know I feel a lot better to be relieved of the affected skin. Now I just have to keep everything crossed that’s the end of it.
Be safe, not sorry
I’m quite conscious about being all ‘woe is me’ at the moment, mostly because I’m sick of letting my brain overtake me with negativity and the worst possible outcome. However, I wanted to share this experience as before this I was always someone quite reluctant to go and see the doctor. I hate the thought of wasting people’s time and sticking my head in the sand has always been the preferable option.
However this time I knew something wasn’t right, deep down, and I should have listened to my body and pushed for a referral much sooner than now. Doctors may be experts in science but only you are an expert in your own body and the signals it gives off that something’s out of sync. So if this post prompts just one person to get that little niggle they’ve been putting off seeing someone about investigated further, then the experience was worth sharing.
If you see me in the next week and wondering why I’m wearing a beanie, like, all the time, that will be because a) I’m not allowed to wash my hair for a week (I cannot actually cope with how rank this is going to be) and b) I currently look like Frankenstein’s monster (from the back). The moral of this story? Wear suncream and/or a hat, kids.
Finally, just a public note to my wonder of a fiancé. I took this photo when you weren’t looking as it sums you up perfectly. No matter where I am, or what I need, you are always there with a hand for me to hold. Shaved head and all. Thank you. I love you.