I’ve been popping my stitches to update you on my recovery from melanoma, my third cancer diagnosis. I know, it’s not a competition!
But it is war, in a sense. I told my mom the other day, when she asked me how I was doing (how I was ACTUALLY doing):
“As far as the skin cancer goes, it can feel heavy. Not necessarily scary anymore, but heavy and lonely. I feel all kinds of love, but the loneliness comes from feeling like I’m constantly dodging deadly bullets, not knowing where to anticipate the next barrage, with no one around me who really “gets it” through similar experiences. I feel more and more outside the norm and that, however I cope with it, I won’t be understood.”
That was just a few days before my 6mm mole needed clean margins, which turned into a 4-inch incision across my upper back.
Like a toddler looks to their parents to know if their little fall in the dirt was a big deal or not a big deal, I kept looking around me for social queues telling me it was a huge deal. It was surprisingly quiet, so I picked myself up and carried on.
However, when the tiny mole biopsy turned into a significant loss of flesh, natural consequences told me that it was a big deal and it was okay to cry.
I haven’t cried much over this. In the Dune: Prophecy series, Season 1, Episode 6 Valya Harkonnen is trapped in her own worst memories and fears and to break free and survive she must allow her fear to overcome her, channeling the Bene Gesserit litany:
“I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.”
There was a powerful scene of Valya in this sandstorm, which, when I saw it I did not cry – out of finally being understood, though I maybe would have at a different phase of my menstrual cycle. I simply recognized, “Yep, that’s what it is like.”
Welp, I just found these images and may have got a little misty-eyed watching it again.
The truth and reality are, I am, indeed, popping my stitches. I leaned down to tie my shoes yesterday and felt my internal stitches break loose, like a pair of faux leather pants that fit too tight when you bend over. I froze and called for James to help. To come see what it looked like.
The final truth bomb that I’ve recently discovered and accepted is I am not dodging cancer bullets.
Every one of them have hit their mark and taken a pound of flesh.
I am not dodging cancer bullets. They hit. They hurt.
They just didn’t kill me.
So, I live to play another day.
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