So in the middle of last month, that being June, I went to the dermatologist because that’s what you do when you hit fifty. You start going to various and sundry doctors appointments to keep up with the rapid pace of decline in your body. The dermatologist visit was for a full body scan that Budge determined I needed because I’d never had one. Okay, better not to argue with Budge, so off to the skin doctor I go.

I get there, fill out a very large stack of paperwork, and wait my turn. The pretty nurse from Eastern Europe calls me back along with her trainee. She has me sign another form or two then tells me what I’m having done. She says take off everything but the undies and the doctor will be right in. She didn’t say she and the trainee would be in also, luckily that doesn’t matter much anymore.

So the doctor comes in. Now I’ve had fast exams. I know doctors today aren’t given the time they once were to spend with patients because of the demands of insurance companies. This was next level though. He had a spray bottle of liquid nitrogen that he wielded like an Uzi all up and down my arms, blistering what he called “pre-cancerous lesions.” I had little red dots all over.

Then, he got to my right shoulder and the pace of the exam slammed to a stop. Apparently, the spot Budge has been worried about for the last three years was, “interesting.” So he shot that spot up with numbing liquid, took a scalpel, and sliced off a quarter sized piece of my epidermis. Didn’t hurt at the time because of the lidocaine, but in the shower the next day was a different story.

He told me he was going to send the skin off to pathology for a biopsy and someone would be in touch. Then he wished me a good day, told me to get dressed, left the office, and promptly went on a month long vacation.

A week went by and I hadn’t heard anything. Then two weeks. I figured it must not be a big deal so I forgot about it. That was until I got the phone call. It went something like this:

“Hello?”

“Yes, may I speak with Mr. Wham?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Wham, I’m from the Oncology and Thoracic Surgery Group here at Prisma. I’m calling to set up your appointment to come see us.”

That was a bit of a surprise. Why was I getting a call from an oncologist’s office? So I asked her, “Excuse me, ma’am, but why am I getting a call from an oncologist’s office?”

“To set up your consultation appointment.”

“WHAT consultation appointment?!”

“To talk about your surgery.”

“WHAT surgery?!”

“To remove your melanoma.”

“Ma’am, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, WHAT MELANOMA?!”

“Sir, have you not received a call from your dermatologist?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

“Why don’t you give them a call and call us back?”

“Okay. That sounds like a capital idea.”

So I called the dermatologist’s office forthwith. Of course no one answered so I left a message. A rather detailed and somewhat irate message asking them to please call me and tell me why a cancer doctor was calling me to do surgery on my person.

I got a call about an hour later from a very contrite and very sweet physician’s assistant in the dermatology practice who let me in on the fact that my doctor had recently gotten back from the vacation and since he took his password to his computer account with him, they were just now finding out the biopsy results of my shoulder skin from nearly a month before.

I had a level four melanoma on my right shoulder. She was careful to be adamant that “level four” did not correlate in any way, shape, or form to “Stage IV” so I shouldn’t let that upset me. It was a measure of how deep the lesion was in the skin and mine was level four out of a possible five, five being worst – of course. She then apologized again profusely for just getting back to me and told me to call the oncologist office back and they would take care of everything.

So I did, and I got an appointment set up for a week later.

Then I proceeded to sit in my chair dumbfounded. I had cancer. Now, I had no idea how bad this cancer was, just that I had it. Cancer has always been a HUGE fear of mine. My little cousin died when we were just kids of cancer. One of the best friends I ever had died of horrible cancer right after I graduated from college. I had no idea what the proper amount of worry was appropriate to apply to the situation so I resorted to the default setting and hit upon “Worst Case Scenario.”

Budge was supposed to go to the beach the day after I found out, but she cancelled her trip because she didn’t want to leave me brooding all weekend about what was going to happen to me. All I could think of at the moment was the song “Live Like You Were Dying,” by Tim McGraw. Again, I had no idea what to think.

My oncologist appointment was the next Friday and that would have been enough, but I had to get through a gauntlet of other appointments before I got to it. Keep in mind, I am pretty much a hermit now. I don’t go out unless accompanied by Budge unless it is absolutely necessary and the week leading up to my oncologist appointment I had an endocrinologist appointment about my testosterone injections, my quarterly psychiatrist appointment, AND my first, overdue colonoscopy in succeeding days leading up to the grand finale. I was shook to say the least.

I made it through the endocrinologist appointment easily since she is one of my favorite doctors anyway. I always like to hear from Dr. Stephens, my psychiatrist, because he’s been with me through some bad times going back over fifteen years. I spent Wednesday prepping for the scoping and so I’m not certain my anus and the rest of my body are on speaking terms again, but he scope itself was easy breazy.

All that was left was the oncologist appointment. Budge and I went. Everybody was extra nice. Just really good people, from the checker-iner to the nurse. Then the doctor came in. His name is Dr. Trocha and I didn’t know it, but he is a rock star oncologist. No joke. He told us his credentials and he ONLY does four types of cancer surgery: melanoma, pancreatic, liver, and stomach. He sees patients in three states and his success rate is off the charts.

Then he talked about my specifics. He said I was at Stage I. He wasn’t worried about any spread to lymph nodes or any sort of spreading through the body. He said all he needed to do was take a nice sized chunk out of my shoulder to make sure he got everything with nice margins, then he’d cut out two little pieces to make the incision look like a football so he could sew it up nicely and not leave me with nipples on my shoulder. He was very comforting and it was blatantly obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

His scheduler called me yesterday. I have surgery August 27. He said it wasn’t a house fire so not to be upset, he’d take care of it all for me.

So there’s my little scare. I feel kind of silly I was so worried now, but the unknown is always scary. In any event, love y’all, get your required health screenings, and keep your feet clean.