So, I had a mole removed last week. Actually, they weren't sure if it was a mole or a wart or an infected whitehead or what. So they scraped it off and sent it off for a biopsy, and that was that. Or so I thought!
Isn't it nice to be woken up first thing on a Monday morning with a call from your dermatologist telling you that the mole was indeed a mole and it was squamous cell carcinoma. I took it all pretty well. I am usually the one telling others that the two most common types of skin cancer really aren't that bad, as long as you catch them in time. It's the scary moles or scrapes that show up on your toe or your buttcrack or your armpit that (in my vast medicinal knowledge) are the scary ones. The horrible, terrible, very bad, no good malignant melanoma. So yesterday I was fine.
But this morning I woke up with every worst-case scenario running through my head while I overanalyzed every lump, bump, and scrape on my body. So thank God the appointment is in two hours, so I can ask all my questions, and they can reassure me and tell me that everything is going to be OK.
Until them, wonderful Mr. J is taking me out for breakfast and then to Home Depot (ain't he sweet) to keep my mind off things. And right now he is on the phone planning a possible trip down the Grand Canyon next summer! And if we get that trip (which would be awesome), I will be packing my entire dry bag full of sunscreen.