I know how I’m going to die. It’s pretty simple: the sun is going to burn into my skin and destroy me from the inside out. Where’s my proof? Well, last month, right before Christmas, I had yet another mole removed via biopsy. It wasn’t “real” cancer, but it had the severe chance of becoming melanoma (skin cancer). I have another three moles after this that I need to have removed, which just sounds like the worst–it’s better than actual cancer–but not that great to be honest.
My family, on both sides, are extremely prone to skin cancer. It is our curse, as is all of humanity’s, but we just seem to have an extra special relationship with the sun. Several Uncles of mine have had massive chunks taken out of their backs. My first mole I had removed I was around 7 years old. Since then I’ve had another 3ish scraped off.
The official website for skin cancer states that “One in five Americans will develop skin cancer in the course of a lifetime.” I will be one of those five, and while that definitely terrifies me, at least I’m prepared–ish. Though how prepared can one be for this sort of thing?
And let me tell you, the recovery from this mini-surgery has been rocky-as-Hell. First, I had ten stitches I had to keep clean on my shoulder, forcing me to become a bit more flexible than I’d been before. One of those popped within the first week when I had to shove my cat off the bed in the middle of the night because he wouldn’t settle down.
Not only is my skin corroding, but it’s also extremely sensitive and hated having band aids attached to it constantly (I changed them three times a day and had to apply a healthy amount of lotion between applications or my skin started bleeding). I had to buy special sensitive band aids, which to be honest have worked pretty well, but since when do band aid boxes only have like 10 band aids in them?
Secondly, now that the stitches are gone I have this pit in my arm that I’m just praying and slathering with the prescription cream so it doesn’t become infected. My skin’s annoyed. I’m annoyed. I can’t even sleep on my right side anymore in fear of opening the wound.
I won’t post any pictures, but please know the wound is gross and I hate it. I’m not a hugely squeamish person, meaning I don’t faint around blood or anything, but I also don’t appreciate having a man-made cavern in my skin. If my body could just gain that super-healing ability that would be great.
Because of this whole ordeal, I have decided the sun and me are done (Not that we were ever friends in the first place). I’ve had over 7 moles removed in my life(I’m only 22!): two by biopsy, and the other scraped off. I know what my skin smells like when it’s being cauterized. My greatest fear isn’t heights or the ocean, it’s a dermatologist appointment.
So, goodbye beach vacations. I won’t miss you. I’m much happier in cold, stormy places anyway.
Happy 2018! I know I said that last week but it’s still a very new year so I felt the need to say it again. In this new year I’m going to be even more real on this blog, so expect some honesty and brutality in 2018.
Let this post be a reminder to not forget sunscreen when you’re going outside–it’s not like I didn’t put sunscreen on too, but it at least lessens the chance of getting cut into as many times as I have (and will).
If anyone has any recommendations for some cute umbrellas please throw them my way because I think I’ll just become that person who always has an umbrella over their head during the summer.
Also, I’d recommend not reading through skin cancer facts and statistics because it will make you want to die inside.
Thanks for Reading!