Too Close For Comfort
Two weeks ago I had a minor procedure done to remove a super freckle from my left cheek. This brown spot had been a part of me for nearly 16 years, and for the last six years I've had it checked periodically to make sure it wasn't becoming something I really didn't want to have to deal with. A few months ago, I went to the dermatologist for a check up, and she recommended having it removed as it had gotten bigger in a very short amount of time. So I had it removed.
Two days after the procedure, as I was pedaling out for a long ride, my phone rang. I pulled over and answered, listening as the nurse told me the results from the lab work showed the spot was benign. Very happily I shared the news with Hubby, and we set off in high spirits, both very thankful.
Today, I returned to the plastic surgeon who'd performed the procedure. The scab over the wound had come off yesterday, so what now remains is new, soft pink skin. A slightly raised ridge rings the bottom, and when the surgeon saw this, he was quite unhappy. He had hoped for no ridge. He wants no ridge. I'm so delighted to not have a large brown spot that the ridge doesn't bother me, but the surgeon says the ridge must go. In two weeks, I'll return for what he referred to as a sanding, where he'll use a sandpaper like material to buff off the ridge and blend the skin in with the rest of my cheek.
During our conversation, the doc sort of casually tossed out how in only six months, the spot I'd had would have become cancerous. The lab results showed just how extensive the cell damage was and how the the spot was changing rapidly. This took my breath away. I'd come way too close to having to deal with something I most likely could have avoided in the first place, and it's this knowing I could have avoided it that really hit home.
Hopefully after the sanding procedure this ordeal will be over. And hopefully another will not present itself--ever.
Two days after the procedure, as I was pedaling out for a long ride, my phone rang. I pulled over and answered, listening as the nurse told me the results from the lab work showed the spot was benign. Very happily I shared the news with Hubby, and we set off in high spirits, both very thankful.
Today, I returned to the plastic surgeon who'd performed the procedure. The scab over the wound had come off yesterday, so what now remains is new, soft pink skin. A slightly raised ridge rings the bottom, and when the surgeon saw this, he was quite unhappy. He had hoped for no ridge. He wants no ridge. I'm so delighted to not have a large brown spot that the ridge doesn't bother me, but the surgeon says the ridge must go. In two weeks, I'll return for what he referred to as a sanding, where he'll use a sandpaper like material to buff off the ridge and blend the skin in with the rest of my cheek.
During our conversation, the doc sort of casually tossed out how in only six months, the spot I'd had would have become cancerous. The lab results showed just how extensive the cell damage was and how the the spot was changing rapidly. This took my breath away. I'd come way too close to having to deal with something I most likely could have avoided in the first place, and it's this knowing I could have avoided it that really hit home.
Hopefully after the sanding procedure this ordeal will be over. And hopefully another will not present itself--ever.
Comments
Sunscreen is your friend, however annoying it is to put on.