Things Even More Scary Than Freddy Krueger

Started this post on Monday, September 14, 2009

I have a weird looking mole on my right side, right on my ribs. It didn’t always look weird. Now it does.

I AM FREAKED OUT.

Ew. Mole. Gross. Yes, gross… I’m nervous. Actually, not just nervous. At this precise moment I’m a bit scared. Five minutes ago I was distracted, now I’m not distracted. I liked it better when I was distracted.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Fear is a funny thing. Not funny “ha ha,” more like funny “cock-your-head-at-a-weird-angle-and-squint-your-eyes-and-see-if-you-can-sort-out-a-way-to-process-this.” That kind of “funny.”

When I was 16 years old I went camping with my friend Kelly and we decided, in our infinite wisdom, to go for a walk when it was pitch black out. We were walking along and then we saw a flashlight bobbing through the forest and then SUDDENLY THE BOBBING FLASHLIGHT DISAPPEARED. Which naturally meant that a serial killer was on his way to murder us and was trying to conceal his location. I was terrified, I-Am-Positive-I-Am-Going-To-Die-A-Horrible-Gruesome-Death terrified. As my friend and I scurried the long way around the campsite back to our tent (because “the long way” is SURE FIRE PROTECTION against serial killers) I distinctly remember saying to myself: If I get murdered by a psychopath my Dad is going to KILL ME. Because my dad would be SO MAD that I would do something SO STUPID as to walk around at night in the forest with Freddy Krueger. Such was the logic of my 16 year old self.

So, that was me pretty scared.

This is a different kind of scared. This is like a quiet, niggling fear that is hanging out in the back of my mind. I can get my work done, chat with John, take the dogs for a walk , make dinner, email my girlfriends, go to the gym, roll my eyes at Kayne’s stupid antics and bitch about the BONEHEADED KID THAT SKATEBOARDS UP AND DOWN MY STREET AT 3 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. I’d say that stuff takes up about 90% of my brain capacity. 5% of me wants to march over to the doctors’ office RIGHT NOW and frantically demand that he tell me what is going on so I can know one way or the other. 3% of me feels a weird sort of peace about the whole thing. 2% of me wishes I hadn’t even noticed the offending weirdness in the first place. That is bad, I know. But it’s true.

I have an appointment at 2:50pm tomorrow. I made the appointment yesterday. I noticed the little anomaly on Sunday. I just have to wait. There is no sense in worrying, that doesn’t help at all. But I’m still worried. 18 hours from now I will be staring at my doctor waiting for him to react in EXACTLY THE PERFECT WAY so that all my worries can drift away into silly, nervous, nothingness.

I just googled “skin cancer mole.” Right. Let’s file that one under “Really, Shauna?!!! REALLY?!!!” No more google searches for me today. Alrighty then.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

My appointment is today. John just assured me, again, that everything is going to be a-ok, and it totally worked because I really do feel much better (OH MY GOD, I THINK MY WEIRD MOLE SIDE IS ACTUALLY PARALYZED. HAS IT ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THAT???). I’m in a really good mood today too (SERIOUSLY, MY SIDE HURTS. AND MY SHOULDER HURTS. AND MY THROAT HURTS).

Clearly my rational side is doing battle with my overly dramatic, paranoid side (THERE IS NOTHING PARANOID ABOUT FEELING PAIN. THE DOCTOR IS GOING TO GASP WHEN HE SEES ME. WHAT IF HE ADMITS ME RIGHT ON THE SPOT? WHAT IF HE TOLD ME THAT TIME WAS RUNNING OUT? WHAT IF HE TELLS ME THAT MY WHOLE RIGHT SIDE HAS TO BE AMPUTATED? CAN THEY DO THAT? WOULD THEY HAVE TO AMPUTATE MY ARM? HOW WOULD I TYPE? I’D HAVE TO GET A BIONIC ARM. DO THEY HAVE THOSE? WOULD I HAVE METAL FINGERS? I’D HAVE TO PUT PADS ON THE TIPS SO THEY DIDN’T CLICK ON THE KEYBOARD BECAUSE CONSTANT CLICKING WOULD DRIVE ME INSANE. COULD MY BIONIC ARM GET WET? THE DOGS ARE GOING TO CHEW ON IT AND I’M NOT GOING TO NOTICE. I’M GOING TO HAVE A RATTY BIONIC ARM THAT CLICKS. OMG).

I think it’s a good sign that I’m making jokes.

Holy crap, I hope the next bit I write is about me making fun of how ridiculous I am.

After my appointment…

My doctor said he wasn’t “too concerned.” I think that is pretty good. I am happy with that prognosis.

He took a look, cut it off (EWWWWW! Yes, yes, blecht, gross I know, but that is what they do) and is sending it to the lab. In 7-10 days I will be able to completely rest easy and have a good ol’ laugh at my insane, hyperactive-imagination self.

A mere 7-10 days.

7-10.

No problem.

Wednesday, September 30^th, 2009 aka Exactly 10 Business Days Later

My doctor is on holidays and the woman who answered the phone is not “trained” to read “these kinds of tests.”

#1 What the hell was he thinking going on holidays? Does he not know it is now 7-10 DAYS LATER?!!!

#2 I’ve got some whizz bang employee training ideas for the clinic: TEACH EVERYONE HOW TO READ “THOSE KINDS OF TESTS” SO THAT “THOSE KINDS OF PATIENTS” DON’T LOSE IT.

I’m pretty sure if there was anything to worry about the lab would have covered my file in fluorescent highlighter or underlined the part where it said OH MY GOD SHE'S GONNA NEED A HALF BODY AMPUTATION!!! so things are mostly likely fine. But still, it would be nice to know for sure.

I now have an appointment for Oct 16^th. A mere 12 business days away.

I am also getting a haircut on that Friday. So, this could either be a very GOOD day or a very BAD day because NOTHING IS WORSE THAN A BAD HAIRCUT.

Friday, October 16^th, 2009 aka 10 + 12 Business Days Later

All is fine. SEE! Of course everything is fine. Everything is fine. And I am SUPER HAPPY WITH MY HAIR, my hair could NOT BE BETTER, it is a GOOD HAIR DAY. I'll post a pic later.

All fine. Hmmm. Guess I'm more relieved than I thought I would be about this!

Today

I'm not sure how cancer survivors do it. I can't imagine how scary the whole process must be. I kind of knew that things had to be more or less okay, but my mind still got carried away ("carried away?" Ha! Maybe try something more along the lines of a one of those super-bouncy bouncy balls going boing, boing, BOING, BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING! back and forth, back and forth with annoying, but impressively consistent regularity. But "carried away" is cute too).

If you are a cancer survivor/you're kicking cancers' ass right now/you are touched in some way by cancer KEEP GOING! Good for you! Holy shit, I am so inspired by your strength and your courage and your chutzpah and your general KICK ASSED-NESS.

If you have some kind of freaky skin anomaly, just go and get it checked out. Please? It's better to know, and (you know this) EARLY DETECTION IS KEY. Here is a link to the Canadian Cancer Society and here is a link to the American Cancer Society.

Another thing- if you know someone who is using Super Human Strength to get through something, maybe go and get them a gift certificate for a massage, or take them to a movie... or PERHAPS YOU COULD GET THEM A GOOFY HAT WITH A PROPELLER ON TOP- whatever, ANYTHING! It must be hard to be Super Human everyday.

Who hasn't wanted to see a real, live propeller hat in action?

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