I saw a few trends online where instead of making resolutions, people made Bingo Boards, Vision Boards, and Prayer Boards for the upcoming year. So in my ridiculously zealous overestimation of myself, I decided to do all three.
I spent a good part of 2024 feeling...meh. I tend to usher in each new year feeling that way. Even more so in 2024. I had never lived in a year my Mom hadn't. And it felt off. But I meandered along. Tate graduated high school. Reese graduated college. David changed positions at work. Drue added a Business minor. Reese got her first townhouse she pays her own rent on. The babies got their first apartment they don't pay their own rent on, but it was still exciting to see them make it a home away from home. And I...well, I added quite a few more pounds, began to navigate the empty nest, and greeted each new month wondering where the previous one had gone.
I wanted 2025 to be different. To live it more. Accomplish something. The term Vision Board sounded hokey. Nevermind David kept referring to it as my Vision Quest. I remind him I am not a mythical nor supernatural figure, but by golly, those tangible reminders of things I want to accomplish this year, are quite motivating.
May I present blog post #1 toward my goal of 5 this year. When I dusted off my laptop and opened it, I realized I hadn't done one post last year. Not. One. I had a few in the works, but never finished them. The one about our trip to Kauai last Spring break and the fear wrenching moment I thought David had been carried out to sea. My brain went on overload of how I was going to tell the kids, get them back to the mainland, and how much I'd actually miss his singing in the morning, when I saw him ambling toward me down the beach. I burst into tears, hugged him tight, then chewed him out for scaring me like that.
And the blog about my first colonoscopy. Where it took 6...count 'em SIX tries for them to unsuccessfully place my i.v. And when they finally called in the anesthesiologist himself, he apologized for having to place it in my foot. "I don't care if you have to stab me in the heart," I exclaimed, "As long as this procedure can get done today and I don't have to prep again for 5 years, you're golden!".
Writing down my goal of 5 blog posts this year, I thought, "What on Earth am I going to blog about??". Mine and David's nightly rotation of Skipbo, Rummikub, and Phase 10 matches? Or how I decided we needed to rewatch the Lord of the Rings trilogy because I just can't follow it. And I feel like I'm halfway intelligent. David made us start with all the Hobbits. But I can only concentrate on them for an hour a night. So at this rate we will hopefully finish before the year is up.
But 2025 said, "I got you girl..." and gave me another subject matter to blog about. A melanoma diagnosis. Not exactly what I had in mind. But I can work with it. For those of you who followed along on my breast cancer journey 7 years ago, buckle up. Actually, I'm hoping this ride won't require a buckle. And will be more easygoing, like those stationary benches on carousels.
When I read my most recent pathology report in my online chart, my first thought was not, "Cancer? Again??" but instead, "How am I going to break the news to David they sent my tissue to the wrong lab?!".
All of our lab tests are covered by our insurance if they go to David's lab. Which I requested at my appointment. Twice. Hell hath no fury like David seeing a bill in the mail from a competitor lab. Last time it happened, it tooks months to get it resolved. "It's only $20 dear..." I said meekly, "Everyone makes mistakes. I say we just pay it."
Ohhhh no. We had to make multiple calls to that lab. Multiple calls to my doctor's office. A conference call with all of us. I was half tempted to sneak over to the other lab and slip them some cash under the table so David couldn't trace a check or debit card charge.
Tate recently had to get some bloodwork done and pulled out a sheet of paper when he was home a few weekends ago from his doctor with all the locations for one of the competitor labs. I did my best grinch smile impersonation and told him to go show that paper to David. As soon as David saw the logo he said, "Oh no you don't! Not there you're not!" and I welcomed Tate into the fold.
Since the kids were all home that same weekend to celebrate David's birthday, I told myself I would wait to share the news of my diagnosis until after the weekend was over. But Tate's little lab stunt had set me up so well, plus I felt weird being the only knowing this information, so I blurted it out at dinner. "So, you're going to be mad...but then you're not going to be mad," I started as David paused mid bite to try and figure out if I had wrecked the car, plowed into his Trager, or some other calamity had occurred at my hands.
"My dermatologist sent my biopsy to the wrong lab...". "Whaaaatttt?", he started before I cut him off. "But I saw my results a little bit ago...and...I have melanoma." Then to make the conversation light again, said, "Who's ready for dessert??".
It's on my left shoulder. And there is also a sketchy spot (not the official medical terminology) right along my mastectomy scar. As some of you know, my left arm is already plagued with chronic lymphedema. And I will forevermore be under strict instructions to not get a cut, scrape, sunburn, or let a needle or blood pressure cuff anywhere near that arm. Hmmm...but a large football shaped incision sutured together is ok??
My current plastic surgeon doesn't do this type of procedure, so they sent me to a new one on the bougie side of town. The tech took me back to the room for my consult, shut the door and said, "So, how are your fills coming along?". I quickly scanned the counter and noticed two large syringes, gloves, and vials. Putting two and two together, I realized they thought I was there to get my implants filled with saline. "Ummm...I'm here for melanoma?" I said as a question. Because I'm awkward. And I was embarrassed for her.
She swiftly exited the room and returned a few moments later, apologizing profusely that I had been mixed up with another patient. The surgeon came in and we discussed the preliminaries as he clackety clacked on his keyboard. Since my incisions will be on the side where I had radiation, my sutures will stay in longer because the healing process takes longer. A little bonus prize for me. I'm 87% sure radiation is what caused that sketchy area along my scar in the first place, which I will be bringing up to my oncologist. He likes it when I share my extensive medical knowledge courtesy of Google with him.
I'll say one thing for sure, melanoma sure does throw your healthcare providers into a tizzy. And things move along rather quickly. Met with surgeon this past week. Procedure scheduled for Monday afternoon.
Oddly enough, Monday morning I have a follow up appt with my original plastic surgeon about surgical options available for my aforementioned lymphedema arm. After which, I will treat myself to Starbucks and perhaps a stroll through Home Goods with an hour to kill before my appt with my new plastic surgeon. Whose life is this? How do I have two separate plastic surgery appointments in one day and not resemble anything close to a Kardashian?!
After my procedure Monday, I'll either be (hopefully) cancer free or have an augmentation based on the mixup at my first appointment. Or I guess a third option would be my cells were actually melanomadic (again, not an official medical term, but really clever I thought) and decided to roam to another area of my body. Which will present another problem. And, hey, another blog post, or several.
I'm off to check the mail to see if my lab bill is in there so I can hide it before David gets home.
