Hello from the other side!

We checked-in at 6:00am to the Mays Clinic, which is Md Anderson’s primary outpatient surgery clinic across the street.  There were a handful of other people there checking in as well. A bubbly cheerful middle-aged woman who I latter heard has had brain biopsies among other things and a tired gentleman in his sixties whose wife rolled in him on a wheelchair and he rested his head on her lap while he waited on the couch.

One thing I am constantly in full awareness of is the fact there are so many levels to this disease. At one point, every one of patients I passed by during these visits was just like me, just starting out on this journey. I have good faith to say now that my surgery is over, I am safe from having to go to the terrible side of cancer. What I’ve been through sucks completely, but it has mostly been a mental battle. Any further, and the physical battle intensifies along with the mental. I pray that I never have to go there.

Melanoma, from what I can tell, is a tricky little b—-. It’s not “bad”, until it is “BAD”. That meaning, as long as you find it early, you will be okay cutting it out and monitoring. If you don’t find it early and it progresses to other areas of the body, you are mostly out of luck – even with chemo. They have one main chemotherapy treatment (Interferon), and it doesn’t have the best track record with actually WORKING with melanoma. So—-  that’s why I was so scared, because I knew that. The doctors told me that up front, so nice of them.


I didn’t have to do a sentinel node biopsy because they didn’t see the need because of the size of the tumor. Yay for blessings. Yay for the inner-voice (my angels) telling me to get the spot looked at so early. I knew that thing didn’t look/feel RIGHT on my body, and because I went with my gut, I could have possibly saved my life.

So we get there at 6:00am. By 6:30 I’m getting in my gown, getting my IV (in the side of my wrist… ugh… gave me the ebby jeebies), and by 7:30 they are sending Jerod off to the waiting room and telling me they are giving me something to help me “relax”.

“*giggle, giggle… Hey! The curtains are moving! *giggle* Y’all should get some curtains that are more trippy so people can enjoy this more! *giggle*”

Yeah, I’m happy when I’m high….  

And that’s all I know. I didn’t know that they were putting me under then and when I woke up it was 9:30 and it was all over. I had to look at my leg before I believed the nurse. Yep, there’s a big cut, I guess they did.

So there it is. Hopefully all behind me now. I will get another path report in the next 7-10 days to have the final word. Keep praying!

I thought I’d go ahead and show you the surgery site. Hey… I should get a little fun out of this, and who doesn’t like showing big scars! I’ll make it small so it doesn’t gross to many people out, but if you want a bigger look, just click on it. Cheers 🙂

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3 Responses to Scars

  1. The Brother says:

    Glad you are on the mend and all lights are green. Leave that stinky melanoma in Texas!!!!

  2. Carla says:

    So happy everything is ok.

  3. Lisa and Jon says:

    SO glad that the surgery is over and done and that all went well! Relief! The drugs they give you right before surgery are a trip. I remember in South Africa this summer, the nurse was sitting by me in the operating room and she said “okay, you’ll begin to feel loopy.” There was music on the intercom–I wonder if the music is always playing to entertain the surgeons, etc. and what they like to listen to–and it was Bon Jovi. I said “Wow, that’s Bon Jovi. I heard him in New Orleans.” The nurse said “It’s just the drugs”. I said “no really it IS Bon Jovi!” And then I was out . . . We continue to pray for you as you recuperate. Take it easy and we’ll hopefully see you this week!
    We love you!

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