Damn Spot

(Or, Putting Worry to Words)

I woke up yesterday and noticed a new spot just below my thumb.

In the before time, I would have waited on something like this. See how it looked after a couple of days. Maybe months. Subscribe to the mindset that it would probably take care of itself on its own.

But this is now.

Now, I am living with Stage IV melanoma in NED status, but that status is only ever as good as right now.

Two days ago, I did not have this spot near my thumb. Now I do, so tomorrow I will see my dermatologist and learn how troublesome this spot could be.

Tomorrow, it may be no trouble at all.

But now, right now, it’s a mystery.

Unknown.

And so it requires me to be brave, practical, willing, sensible, and alert all my ists: the oncologist, the dermatologist, and not quite yet, the psychologist.

Because for now, I’m going to write about how proud I am of myself for noticing the spot right away, reaching out, and seeking the help I need to make the next (best, hard, impossible, easy) decision.

The visual work of welcoming the Cancer Sharks to feast on the spot, this potential little piece of chum, is already at work.

Tonight, I will do a session of oncology yoga before bed to help me sleep.

Tomorrow, I will face a day pre-planned with meetings, dog training, and now a visit to the derm to get more information.

It’s not the day of my dreams, but it is the day I need.

And so in it, I’ll find a way to find gratitude. Maybe through story or observation. Maybe in an unlikely low-traffic trot to Boston, or a long one that will give me more time with Noah Kahan and my book about Goddesses.

I cannot change the outcome of this appointment.

Before cancer, I know I would have waited.

Procrastinated.

Now, cancer leaves me no room for procrastination.

And while there is still plenty of room for worry, I’m clear enough to catch that early too, and turn it into something a bit more productive.

Like this essay.