As I sat in the waiting room, anticipation filled the air. I was there for my first consultation with a Mohs surgeon, a specialist who would perform a precise microscopically controlled procedure to remove the basal cell skin cancer my dermatologist had found on my forehead.
Skin cancer? Really? I felt too young for that diagnosis. Isn’t it just something old folks deal with? Or those who can’t resist tanning beds?
Yet, I knew better. My sister had battled malignant melanoma at just 28, proving that skin issues can strike anyone—regardless of age or intelligence. I recognized my own fortune; basal cell carcinoma is the “better” type of skin cancer. It grows slowly and is relatively simple to treat, boasting a cure rate of 97 to 99.9 percent with Mohs surgery. Unlike melanoma, which is aggressive and frightening, I was reminded of how fortunate I was to be dealing with this issue.
I couldn’t help but think that I was likely the luckiest person in that waiting room, and not just because I was the youngest. Around me were individuals grappling with more severe diagnoses than basal cell cancer.
“Ma’am,” the receptionist snapped me out of my thoughts.
Was she addressing me?
“Ma’am,” she repeated, locking her gaze on me as she handed my insurance card back. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Ma’am”? Seriously? I thought, rolling my eyes as I walked over to retrieve my card. She looked older than me by at least five years.
As I caught my reflection in a nearby mirror, I was struck by the reality: I looked like a “ma’am.” A 35-year-old mother of three—exactly who I was. When did that transformation occur?
It felt like just yesterday I was in college, but in a blink, I was navigating the chaos of motherhood. I was old enough to have kids in elementary school and to have long forgotten the sleepless nights (though perhaps the sleep deprivation played a role). I was at the age where friends are announcing divorces instead of weddings, and my newsfeed is filled with photos of kids riding bikes instead of baby bumps. Instead of hearing, “My Mom has cancer,” it’s now “I have cancer.”
When did that shift happen? I thought I would notice the growing up process, that I would feel different and more equipped for adulthood. Yet, here I was, feeling much the same.
Just the other day, I was outside with my friend while our kids delighted in one of the first warm spring days. They played pirates and decorated the sidewalk with chalk. I mentioned my skin cancer diagnosis to her.
“Are you OK, though?” she asked, concern etching her features.
“I’m fine. My surgery is scheduled for May. It’ll all be behind me, and I’ll be OK,” I reassured her, and myself.
“I mean, emotionally?”
We watched our little ones giggle, carefree and blissfully unaware.
“I just feel like such a grown-up,” I admitted, “and it’s overwhelming.”
With that, I called the kids over; it was time to apply sunscreen again.
For more insights on navigating the complexities of skin health and motherhood, check out this helpful blog post. And if you’re looking for reliable products, Make a Mom offers quality at-home insemination kits that you can trust. For comprehensive information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit the CDC’s excellent resource.
In summary, as I sat in that waiting room, I was reminded of how life can change in an instant. I may have faced a health scare, but I was also acutely aware of the beauty of growing up, even when it feels daunting.
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