Wearsunscreen.

Wear. sunscreen.

In 1993, Ifound a mole on my leg that looked scary. When my doc saw it, he said, “That’scoming off today.” Two weeks later, he called me in, sat down beside me, took my hand, and told me it was a melanoma, that I wouldbe having surgery in a few days to remove a large chunk of tissue from my leg, and further treatment might be needed if the cancer had metastasized.

At that time, I had been divorced a year. I was a single mother of four beloved children whose greatest fear in life matched mine--that something would happen to me and their father would get custody of them. Those days... sitting on the couch... waiting for the surgery... were long and dark.

Post-surgeryI was relieved to hear that the first pathologist had been incorrect; the mole wasreally a basal cell carcinoma, and not much of a threat. I started breathing again.

From thattime going forward, I stopped tanning my legs, always wore long pants, began using a face moisturizerwith sunblock, and I always wear a hat or cap while outside to protect my faceand my eyes. (A colleague was diagnosed with melanoma in his eye. He lived less than a year after his diagnosis.)

Fast forwarda few decades….

I generallyspend August picking peaches off my tree (eating them, freezing them, givingthem away) and writing poetry for the Cascadia Poetics Lab's Postcard Poetry Fest. ThisAugust, while I did do those things, I spent some quality time with first mydermatologist, then a surgeon. Because, after months of pleading for adermatology appointment, I finally got one—and yep, I was right, I had acouple of spots of skin cancer.

One of thosespots was a melanoma. For real this time.

Damn.

Damn damndamn.

Hearing the voice of a doctor I didn't know say in a voicemail, "Unfortunately, the lesion on your arm is a melanoma, and you'll need to call and schedule surgery right away...." sunk my heart from my chest to my hiking boots. Thus followed a few more long and dark days.

A week after surgery, when my surgeon called to let me know he’d gottenclear margins, that the cancer had not spread and I was free to “go live my life” as long as I see mydermatologist on a regular basis, I thanked him profusely. Then I ended the call and sobbed in relief for twenty minutes.

So now I have a four-inch scar down my arm (which will fade with time, I know) and the sense of gratitude that wells up when we realize that, shoot, this could have gone in a whole different direction.

I don’t wantto be sick or undergoing treatment. I suck at that. I want to be writing, and Iwant to be out hiking (which, by the way, no doubt led to this skin cancer, asI had been covering everything except my arms. Now I’m wearing UV blocking sleeveswhenever I am out in the sun).

My belovedreaders… wear sunscreen. Cover up. Take good care. Some cancers, as we know,are preventable. Let’s be smart together, okay?

For your edification(and because we’re getting close to Halloween, ha ha ha), I have posted belowphotos of my arm immediately post-surgery, then as the healing progressed. Don’tfeel compelled to look unless you want to.

Here’s toyour good health! Sláinte!