I should have taken a before pic of my nose.
It's never been my favorite trait, but I miss the old one.
A couple years ago, there was a spot on my nose that would spontaneously begin to bleed when I was in the sun. It would eventually heal and then bleed again.
I had it frozen twice in Vegas but it kept making an appearance.
After we moved to Missouri I had it biopsied and it came back basal cell.
Luckily basal cell is highly unlikely to spread and is very slow growing, but I was scheduled for Mohl's surgery. I also had a small spot on my forehead with the same symptoms but we were going to tackle the nose first.
Mentally I was not prepared for what was going to happen during the surgery.
They take a certain amount of tissue to analyze and see it they got it all. If they don't get it in the first sample, they take some more.
My first sample was clean on the edges but still had cancer on the bottom, so Dr. Erickson had to dig again.
It was rough, to say the least.
When I first came in, the nurse asked what kind of music I'd like to listen to.
Classical - something peaceful (my life is very noisy and loud).
When Dr. Erickson was digging the second time, there was a point when I thought I was going to lose it. I needed something to hold me together. At that moment, the hymn "Come Thou Fount" started playing. My history with that song goes way back and holds some sacred memories. I felt like someone reached out to hold my hand and give me comfort.
Thankfully that tissue came back all clear so Dr. Erickson began examining how my skin pulled and stretched to figure out how to close the hole.
To say the least, it was disconcerting to hear her mumbling, "Hmmmm. Maybe this? No. I don't want this to droop, etc. etc." It was clear she did not have an exact plan in place.
As the reality of my nose not being the same began to hit,
my mind went back to our seminary lesson that morning.
It was on the Holy Ghost and how, by that Spirit, we can be shown all things which we should do.
That concept held a whole new meaning to me right then.
So I shared it with Dr. Erickson and told her I knew she could be shown how to close the hole.
She is awesome.
She was quiet for a few moments and then she asked if it would be okay if she went to work on another patient while thinking of what to do for me.
In the meantime, I got all bandaged up and went home to eat lunch.
The proceedings had taken four hours.
It was a nice break to eat lunch with Jeremy, Taffy and KD and to text some people the pic of the hole.
My brother, Kyle, gave me the suggestion to just put a gauge in it. It was nice to laugh.
Back at the office, Dr. Erickson came in and still seemed unsure as to what to do.
Usually they do a graft from behind the ear, but that skin has a different color and texture so is very noticeable.
I was praying fervently when she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! I know what to do!"
And she proceeded to do a flap that her nurse had never seen her do before but that she remembered from her training.
It turned out pretty well although it is VERY traumatizing to be awake while someone is cutting your skin and you feel blood running down your cheek in a stream. I'm an extreme bleeder, I guess.
Jeremy has helped me accept the scar because it's a legal tattoo of my love for him,
"J" for Jeremy. . . get it?
The scar is getting lighter with time and there are some things I can do to smooth out the bump, but my hope and comfort in the resurrection is strengthened every day as I look at my reminder to use sunscreen.
The week I got my stitches out, we were going to do surgery on the cancer on my forehead, but Dr. Erickson thought we should do a topical chemo because the cancer was on the very top layer of skin and she suspected I had more of it all over my forehead.
The chemo was a 6 week course. When I began, my forehead was smooth and you couldn't see anything that looked like cancer.
But after 2 weeks of putting on the chemo, it looked like this.
The chemo targets precancerous cells and destroys them.
It was freaky to see more and more of them start to appear as the time went on.
The beginning of week 3 my forehead looked like this.
Putting the chemo on was extremely painful.
At the end of week 3 I went to see Dr. Erickson.
She tried to act calmly.
She said to stop using the chemo and sent a sample to the lab because she was sure the sores were infected. No pharmacy in these small towns had the medicine she prescribed so I had to wait another day to get on the antibiotics.
Mercifully, my mom had scheduled a trip to see us that lined up with this week.
It was a tender mercy that I will be forever grateful for.
A day after seeing the Dr., I woke up like this.
Eyes swollen, forehead a mass of yuck, and was in an incredible amount of pain.
KD came into my room, as usual, climbed up by me, as usual, but then she backed up a little bit, looked at me with concern and asked, "Are you a monster?"
I sure felt like one, I tell you what.
When I told her I just needed to go wash it off and it would be a little better she kindly said,
"No. You are beautiful."
The love of a child is what is beautiful.
The next day I looked like this.
It was definitely worse so I called Dr. Erickson. She wasn't in the office but Dr. Moon could see me.
The amount of pain I was in is hard to describe.
I had taken a Vicaden and it was just kicking in when I began to drive to the dr.
I probably should not have been driving at this point, but I wasn't thinking clearly. . . thus, I shouldn't have been driving, but, nevertheless! I headed to the dr.
As I left our driveway I noticed there was a tiny sliver of gas left in the car. The doctor's office was 25 minutes away, meaning close to an hour of driving round trip. It was a windy day and even the air touching my skin made me burst into tears. In my confused and pained state I decided I was NOT going to stop and get gas. I just had to get there.
Going up our street I had the thought to go through our friend's neighborhood.
"No, that's silly," I grumbled.
It came again as I turned onto the highway.
"Ugh. No," I grimaced.
Then right before my friend's neighborhood, it came again.
"Okay!" I shouted out loud.
I was glaring down at the road, my eyebrows furrowed in pain as I drove through my friend's neighborhood, wondering why I should go this way.
As I left her neighborhood, I looked down, the sliver of gas disappeared, I looked up, and there was a gas station. . . without traffic to cross or a main road to maneuver.
I was humbled that even through my dazed and drugged thoughts, the Spirit was able to help me avoid the much bigger problem of running out of gas.
After the dr. visit, during which I'm sure I scared a lot of people but was in too much pain to care, Jeremy went to the store and got me bactroban to put on topically.
Here's my forehead a couple days later.
(Note: See the bleeding part in the middle and the scabs? If you ever lose all your skin and then it starts growing back, don't rub off light tan looking stuff. It's actually good stuff growing back - ouch! How was I supposed to know?)
A couple more days. . .
And a week later.
What did I learn from this?
#1 Relying on the Holy Ghost can bring comfort and guidance
#2 Having vaseline-like substance on your skin for weeks is ANNOYING
#3 I'm so grateful that I'm not in pain all the time and that I'm generally healthy and strong
#4 That Heavenly Father loves me - he prompted my mom back in November to book a flight for my worst week. What a blessing!
And to sum it all up. . .
The other day Taffy and I were in the car and she said,
"I'm always going to wear sunscreen so I don't get cancer. I don't want a hole in my nose and my forehead to look like ladybugs are growing out of it."
Amen, girl.
