Right, so: I am currently awaiting some test results to clarify whether I just had cancer, and it is a really weird feeling. I went to my doctor a long time ago. I had a mole and I kept accidentally scratching it, so I asked her to remove it. She looked at it and told me that it looked completely benign (which I expected) and sent me to a plastic surgeon to get it removed because she didn’t want to do the procedure herself. Anyway, I called the surgeons office. His secretary was really appalling over the phone (scolding me for not having my address in the system, because it was very inconvenient for her that it wasn’t there) and I actually dreaded going there in case the surgeon was just as bad. A few months later I go to the appointment. The surgeon seems nice. Our conversation went something like this:
Him: Something about a mole? Me: Yeah, small one. Him: So, what if I tell you that it looks fine? Me: Then I’d agree, it looks fine to me – I just keep scratching it, so I assume it’s in the way for me … Him: Alright, let me see it … I show him my mole and he goes: That small one … ? I go: Yeah … Him: You weren’t born with that Me: No Him: How long have you had it? Me: … I don’t know … I discovered it about a year ago because I scratched it … Him: I am pretty sure that it’s a type of skin cancer. Me: Ok? Him: It’s not dangerous, not really, and it NEVER spreads. Let’s just remove it. Me. Ok …
He removed my tiny apparently-not-a-mole and an extra chunk of skin (just in case) and sent it to be tested. So now I wait to find out whether I just had a cancer scare or actual (but in no way dangerous) cancer (which I guess also counts as a cancer scare). It feels like it should have been the other way around. I should have been worried about it and then been told it was harmless. I almost feel cheated of the time to prepare for such a message. I guess I now have one to three weeks to get used to the possibility of it actually having been cancer. But it really shouldn’t matter. If it was cancer, then I have already had proper treatment. And even if I have this type of cancer somewhere else, it can’t kill me. Statistically. I sort of like statistics.
I feel annoyed at myself for reacting to this. And ashamed. I have cried a lot today. I’m not scared of it being cancer, I think I was just startled a lot, and cancer is a scary word or name. It’s like Voldemort from before he was back. Anyway, I told my best friend and she just started crying, so now I will stop telling people about it. At least until I know for sure what it was or wasn’t. I’ve told four people in total. Luckily for me, my friends are mostly very rational people, so they don’t usually panic about things I tell them, and only one person reacted irrationally. It was very nice of her though but I really wish I hadn’t scared her like that about something so benignly malignant. I’m not sure where I am going with this. Nowhere I suppose. There is nowhere to go with it. If it was something, it was over before it began. Hopefully my cognition will soon trump my affect completely and let me get back to the relatively important paper I am writing to complete my bachelor’s degree. That would be nice …