Scars are sexy!

Or so they say.

In some cases, a scar can be a battle wound, the sign of a warrior. That's sort of how I view my scars... not that I think of myself as any sort of warrior, not like I view the soldiers who protect our freedom. Mine is a different sort of war, an intensely personal one and not for the greater good, I make no sacrifices other than sacrificing my comfort in order to gain more time with my family. But my scars are gained in battle nonetheless.

Wanna see? (I'm linking to them so that people aren't forced to look at them, I don't want to make anyone queasy here.)


Wide Excision Biopsy

Wide Excision Biopsy Part Deux

Lymph Node Dissection (a bit revealing, but not sexy)

Lymph Node Dissection Part deux


The pictures are quite personal, but I want to show what cancer can do to your body. Someone posted on MPIP recently about an education program they want to do where they show teenagers the effect that skin cancer can have on one's looks. That fake'n'bake might look pretty, but the consecquences certainly don't. If you must tan, be sensible about it. Melanoma is on the rise and it's a killer.

Lecture over.

Speaking about the fake'n'bake... I have a confession, sort of.

Our local Subway is next door but one to a tanning salon. One evening, at the height of chemo when I was feeling like something the dog didn't even want to roll in, Jim and I went there to grab some subs for the family.

I was sitting waiting for him to get the food when a young woman came in. She had on shorts and had a spectacular tan, she looked amazing. I sat, feeling pale, ugly and half dead (I also had a chest infection for about two months during chemos one and two), looking at her legs. I noticed a small black mark on her leg and it struck me that it looked exactly like the mole I had that became a melanoma.

I wanted to say something, but at that point, started coughing up plegm and trying to suppress the dry heaving that always happened whenever I coughed. Jim got the subs and helped me back to the car. I mentioned the woman's leg to him and he asked me if I wanted to go back and say something to her. I said no, because I just felt so sick, dry heaving saliva and plegm into a wad of Kleenex (nice visual, huh?).

I've regretted it ever since.

Oh, I know about free will, we're all perfectly free to damage our own health if we want to. Smokers know about lung cancer and emphysema, drinkers know about cirrhosis, etc (God knows I've never been a paragon of virtue myself)... but do tanners realise the dangers of skin cancer? Should I have just said something regardless of how I was feeling? Even if there was a good chance that she'd tell me to eff off and mind my own business? I think so... I think I did the wrong thing.

No need to judge me on that, I've already judged myself pretty harshly.


This poses the question though; how far do you go in trying to save people from themselves? How much is it appropriate to say to a complete stranger about the risk they're posing to their own health? Would I approach a person lighting a cigarette and tell them that they're possibly giving them self cancer? Would I approach someone opening a bottle of beer and tell them that alcohol is now classed as a carcinogen?

Where is the line and should we cross it?



Seeing my scars for the first time freaked me out. The first time I saw the wide excision biopsy scar I started to cry, it looked so horrible and my leg had a large chunk missing out of it that you can't see from the angle the picture was taken. I was better prepared for the lymph node dissection one and had to care for the wound, so it was easier to deal with.

The resulting (although mild) lymphedema in my thigh means that I no longer wear shorts or short skirts. A small price to pay for cutting the cancer out of me. Even though the lymph node dissection didn't halt or slow the progression of the disease, I feel that in the circumstances if I hadn't had it done I'd be blaming myself a lot more now than I already do.

Sadly I believe that the cancer had already spread and my oncologist dropped the ball by not doing a baseline scan before the LND surgery to be sure (and maybe I dropped the ball because I didn't know to ask for one). He dropped the ball in quite a few ways, however, I strongly believe that had I stayed with him, he would have killed me. I hope to God it's now not too late to save me.

If this doesn't work for me, it won't be through a lack of trying.

Live STRONG! It's the only way. I lost my grip for a couple of days there and it's not a good thing, it just makes it all so much harder. You have to realise that even though you can't control the cancer, you CAN control your attitude towards it. You have a choice; curl up and die, or fight like you've never fought before.

Me? I'd walk over hot coals - or worse - to keep my children from being motherless.

So... the self-pity party is OV-ER. Time to pull myself up by the bootstraps and carry on.