21.
I have NEVER been in a tanning bed.
I have NEVER had a second-degree sunburn.
I grew up in Oregon (where ninety percent of the year it’s overcast).
But it happened to me anyway. I went in to the dermatologist to have a mole removed. A mole on my leg that wasn’t particularly large or misshapen. It wasn’t scary-looking like the ones you see in an anatomy textbook or in the latest issue of Women’s Health Magazine. It was a mole I’d had on my leg for as long as I can remember. But it was growing. I noticed that I started to nick it when I shaved my legs—and that never happened before—so I decided to just get the darn thing removed.
The pathology test came back “abnormal, but not cancerous.” Whatever that means. And I left the doctor’s office with the advice to return if my mole started growing back. I was assured that it wasn’t anything to be concerned about; it just meant that they didn’t get it all and they’d need to make a slightly larger, deeper incision to remove more cells.
Everything was fine and dandy. I went on my way, happily showing off my new little scar to anyone who asked.
The mole did grow back, just like they said it might. It was ugly this time because it was growing up around the scar tissue, so I didn’t think anything of it. But at the prompting of a friend and roommate, I reluctantly made an appointment at the health center to have it removed, again.
This time, when I went to get my stitches out, the pathology report said MELANOMA.
Melanoma is a scary word.
I could see it on the doctor’s face and hear it in his voice when he said it. He was scared of it. I became scared of it.
Melanoma is the only type of the three types of skin cancer that is dangerous. Well…that’s not entirely true. Squamous Cell and Basal Cell carcinomas need to be removed too, but they are incapable of metastasizing; meaning that they cannot spread to other parts of your body to cause tumors. So the protocol for these types of skin cancer is to shave them off, or burn them off, or laser them off, etc.
But Melanoma is the scariest.
Melanoma can send little melanoma cells off into your blood stream, where they have access to travel anywhere throughout your entire body. So, when you get melanoma, if left untreated or undiscovered for too long, you can easily end up with tumors in your brain, lungs, liver—anywhere—and that is what is scary.
I got an education in melanoma over the next two days as I met with a surgical oncologist. MY surgical oncologist. I had one of those now. We talked about the surgery I would have to have, and the blood work to prep for it. The appointment I’d have with the radiologist to take a radioactive photo of my lymphatic system. The MRI to make certain there weren’t already tumors in my brain. The CAT scan to make sure there weren’t tumors in the rest of me either.
All of this while approaching finals week during my very first semester at BYU. Every day seemed like it held a new doctor or a new test. And the surgeon wasted no time scheduling to have my surgery, because with melanoma, time is precious. One day could be the difference between it spreading or not.
In the rare moments that I had to sit and think and be still during all of this excitement, I worried. I worried about how my parents could afford this surgery; they aren’t well-to-do, and it would certainly put a dent in their savings. I worried about being able to afford health insurance in the future; premiums would be sky-high for someone with a history of skin cancer. It didn’t matter that I’ve never smoked or had a sip of alcohol. I was a cancerous liability that insurance companies would shun. I worried, stupidly enough, about boys ever wanting to date or marry a girl who would probably just get cancer again someday and be sickly and costly for them to take care of. I worried about the huge scar I was going to have down the side of my leg; it would show the world that I was flawed and imperfect. I was certain everyone would notice it for the rest of my life, and now this stigma of “cancer victim” would follow me around everywhere I went. I didn’t want that attention or that pity. I just wanted to be normal and healthy. Like everyone else.
The night before surgery I prayed. And during a heartfelt prayer to my Father in Heaven, I felt so calm. I knew that no matter what happened I would be alright. Whether the test results came back showing metastasis or not, everything would be alright. If I died at age 21, it was all going to be alright, because He knew me. He had a plan for me. I was perfectly at peace knowing that He had a plan.
I had my surgery. Two of my sisters came to drive me to the hospital in Salt Lake, and they sat and waited while I went under the knife. They laughed with me and made it a good day. One of them spent those 2 hours making me a crossword puzzle to do after I woke up, because she knows I love crossword puzzles. It was made up entirely of cancer terms and the name of my doctor and all that. Very clever.
We drove back to Provo and rested until my doctor’s appointment the next day, which would tell me for sure whether the melanoma had spread or not. Whether I would have to undergo chemotherapy treatments or not. Whether my life would go back to normal, or not.
Well, my life did not go back to normal. Sure, here I am at age 28; perfectly healthy. The cancer did not spread, and the only reminders I have from that experience are the crossword puzzle (I framed it and hung it on my bedroom wall), the six inch scar that runs down the inside of my right calf (completely faded from the dark red it was initially, and barely noticeable), and the yearly visit to see my dermatologist every July (he gives me the once-over and we have yet to find any other scary moles). But, those aren’t the only reminders I carry. I also have the reminder, written on my heart, that God is aware of me. That He knows what is best. And for that I am ever grateful. I’m glad to have those reminders. I am glad my life did not remain unchanged.
If life plans were left entirely to mortal scheming, I believe no one would ever have cancer. Not to mention, no one would ever suffer injustices, or pain. No one would ever fail for trying, and no one would ever experience heartbreak. But I also believe that we would all be the worse for it.
To finish, I thought I would share a few of the lessons I learned from my experience with cancer. Lessons that have made me a better person, a better friend, and a better daughter of God. Lessons that make me so grateful for a Heavenly Father who knows better than I, because if it had been left up to me, I never would have learned these lessons.
What happens TO you in life, has absolutely no bearing on who you are. YOU determine who you are by how you choose to react to what happens in your life.
I was so worried that having cancer would turn me into something weak or pitiable. But by choosing to react to it with optimism and faith, I was turned into just the opposite. I have more power over my life and the person I want to become. It changed me for the better because of how I reacted.
2) Be willing to comfort those who stand in need of comfort, and to mourn with those that mourn. We needn’t be afraid that we’ll say the wrong thing or that we don’t have enough to offer someone going through a trial. Just show up, listen, and show kindness. Simply being willing is what makes us right for the task. We can do no wrong when we seek to serve as the Savior would. And a smile and warm embrace will make a bigger difference than you’ll ever know. The outpouring of love I felt from so many people--people who could have easily shied away from an uncomfortable situation--touched my heart very deeply. They made me realize what it means to love and to be a friend.
3) “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. " John 14:27
The peace that comes from living according to the truth that you possess is greater than any other security or comfort this world might offer. Even when facing death, I found the peace that only the Savior can offer. No doctor could offer it. No millionaire could offer it. Only the Savior could. Do not give that peace away so easily, for something lesser or fleeting.
I had cancer at the age of 21.
21.
And I am all the better for it.
-Maranda
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