•8:23 AM
I found a black mole on my back. It is small, but I couldn't pretend that it was not there. It is in the centre of my upper back, about an inch above my bra strap.
So, of course, I googled it.
Apparently, black moles are a very deadly form of melanoma. They grow inward, toward your organs, and quickly metasticize. So early diagnosis is critical. This is not what I was hoping for.
"Jonesy, can you look at this mole on my back?" I asked, pulling at my t-shirt. "Get that look out of your eyes, this is serious. Tell me what shape it is."
"It's a perfect circle."
"What about the outside edge ... is it defined or kind of jagged-y?"
"I would say it is clearly defined," he reported. Okay, this is all good news.
"Is it all the same colour?"
"Yeah, in fact it looks like a blood blister to me," Jonesy said. A blood blister? Why would I develop that? Old people get those. Plus, Jonesy is not a doctor. I just ignored this as a possibility and moved on to the next question ...
"Is it raised or flat?" I asked.
"Maybe, a little raised."
"Hmmm..." I muttered, walking back to my laptop.
"What are you thinking?" Jonesy asked. I knew he wanted to know if he gave me the answers I was looking for.
"I don't know..." I answered.
So, I did what any sane person would do and headed for the bathroom. I sat up on the bathroom counter as close to the mirror as I could get and used a hand-held mirror to look at the black mole of death for myself.
And then I made a doctor's appointment.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and that evening pretending that it did not bother me. But what if it was something that I should be bothered about? What if it was something serious?
The Internet told me that the typical person inflicted with the black mole of death was often in the prime of their lives. They are not sun worshippers nor were they outdoor labourers who are exposed to the sun all day long. They are office workers who get large doses of sun exposure on the weekends.
Great ... now I am a weekend binge drinker, binge sugar addict and binge sun tanner.
The next morning I was still pretending that I was not worried about it. It's just a little mole ... he'll probably burn in it off right in his office. No big deal. Stop thinking about it. Seriously, stop thinking about the black mole of death that seems to be growing a little bigger with each minute that passes.
This is one of those times that it is great to have an entrepreneur for a husband ... because he could look after the crazy four-year-old while I went off to face my doom all alone.
"Hey, Jill," the Doctor said. "Good to see you. What brings you in today?"
"I have a black mole on my back," I said. "And, I need you to look at it."
He grabs his fancy Doctor's flashlight, and looks at it for approximately ten seconds.
"That's nothing. Don't worry about it," he reports.
"What? That is the black mole of death," I said, rather emphatically. Sometimes I can be a know-it-all, even when I am not.
"Really, you don't need to worry about it," he says, smirking. "It's just a subaceous cyst." That sounded about as alarming as a blood blister ... ugh. Maybe Jonesy is a doctor afterall. Do I have to tell him that he was right?
He explained that a subaceous cyst is a small sac (associated with a hair follicle, I think) that fills with sebum and causes a cyst. Sebum is a fancy Doctor word for fat or oil. So basically, I had some hair follicle that filled with fatty oil and created a very small cyst. Gross. Now, I'm just embarrassed to be here with my disgusting sac o' fat.
"Are you sure that is what it is?" I asked.
"Trust me, that is all it is," he replied, again with the smirk.
"I don't think I like this whole getting older thing," I told him. "I mean, there was a time when I had lovely skin that did not get sacs of fat lodged in it."
My Doctor laughed - right at me. "Well, think of it as a trade for wisdom and being distinguished."
Distinguished? Ugh. I don't want to be "distinguished." Old people are wise and distinguished.
All kidding aside, my Doctor's appointment could have turned out much differently today. It could have been something serious. My post today could have had much different tone.
Go ... buy yourself and your kids some sunscreen. Avoid the black mole of death.
So, of course, I googled it.
Apparently, black moles are a very deadly form of melanoma. They grow inward, toward your organs, and quickly metasticize. So early diagnosis is critical. This is not what I was hoping for.
"Jonesy, can you look at this mole on my back?" I asked, pulling at my t-shirt. "Get that look out of your eyes, this is serious. Tell me what shape it is."
"It's a perfect circle."
"What about the outside edge ... is it defined or kind of jagged-y?"
"I would say it is clearly defined," he reported. Okay, this is all good news.
"Is it all the same colour?"
"Yeah, in fact it looks like a blood blister to me," Jonesy said. A blood blister? Why would I develop that? Old people get those. Plus, Jonesy is not a doctor. I just ignored this as a possibility and moved on to the next question ...
"Is it raised or flat?" I asked.
"Maybe, a little raised."
"Hmmm..." I muttered, walking back to my laptop.
"What are you thinking?" Jonesy asked. I knew he wanted to know if he gave me the answers I was looking for.
"I don't know..." I answered.
So, I did what any sane person would do and headed for the bathroom. I sat up on the bathroom counter as close to the mirror as I could get and used a hand-held mirror to look at the black mole of death for myself.
And then I made a doctor's appointment.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and that evening pretending that it did not bother me. But what if it was something that I should be bothered about? What if it was something serious?
The Internet told me that the typical person inflicted with the black mole of death was often in the prime of their lives. They are not sun worshippers nor were they outdoor labourers who are exposed to the sun all day long. They are office workers who get large doses of sun exposure on the weekends.
Great ... now I am a weekend binge drinker, binge sugar addict and binge sun tanner.
The next morning I was still pretending that I was not worried about it. It's just a little mole ... he'll probably burn in it off right in his office. No big deal. Stop thinking about it. Seriously, stop thinking about the black mole of death that seems to be growing a little bigger with each minute that passes.
This is one of those times that it is great to have an entrepreneur for a husband ... because he could look after the crazy four-year-old while I went off to face my doom all alone.
"Hey, Jill," the Doctor said. "Good to see you. What brings you in today?"
"I have a black mole on my back," I said. "And, I need you to look at it."
He grabs his fancy Doctor's flashlight, and looks at it for approximately ten seconds.
"That's nothing. Don't worry about it," he reports.
"What? That is the black mole of death," I said, rather emphatically. Sometimes I can be a know-it-all, even when I am not.
"Really, you don't need to worry about it," he says, smirking. "It's just a subaceous cyst." That sounded about as alarming as a blood blister ... ugh. Maybe Jonesy is a doctor afterall. Do I have to tell him that he was right?
He explained that a subaceous cyst is a small sac (associated with a hair follicle, I think) that fills with sebum and causes a cyst. Sebum is a fancy Doctor word for fat or oil. So basically, I had some hair follicle that filled with fatty oil and created a very small cyst. Gross. Now, I'm just embarrassed to be here with my disgusting sac o' fat.
"Are you sure that is what it is?" I asked.
"Trust me, that is all it is," he replied, again with the smirk.
"I don't think I like this whole getting older thing," I told him. "I mean, there was a time when I had lovely skin that did not get sacs of fat lodged in it."
My Doctor laughed - right at me. "Well, think of it as a trade for wisdom and being distinguished."
Distinguished? Ugh. I don't want to be "distinguished." Old people are wise and distinguished.
All kidding aside, my Doctor's appointment could have turned out much differently today. It could have been something serious. My post today could have had much different tone.
Go ... buy yourself and your kids some sunscreen. Avoid the black mole of death.
