Little Bad Mole

About a month ago I had an appointment with a dermatologist to check all of my moles. Unfortunately, two moles were removed and one of them came back with precancerous cells. Although it's not a very big deal, the pathology showed that there is still some precancerous cells in the area around what was previously the mole. I was supposed to have a one hour procedure tomorrow to remove the rest of the dangerous area, but this morning I panicked.

You see, the area in question is on my breast. The doctor already removed a big chunk and she wants to go back in. I'm antsy, nervous, apprehensive, and all around sick about the thought of going back in. A woman's breast is a very private area, and is such a symbol of femininity. The first procedure took three weeks to heal, and now it's a big ole' lump of scar tissue.

I might not be able to avoid another procedure, but I cancelled the one for tomorrow which was supposed to take place in Wenatchee. Instead, I called Virgina Mason in Seattle which is a leading medical center for dermatology. I have an appointment for Friday to have an initial meeting, at which point I will have a referral for the surgery.

It's odd, I have been more upset about this silly little procedure than my brain tumor surgery. At least I now know that I will be in the hands of the best at Virginia Mason. I've learned a lot about medical things in the past year and a half, one of them being, go to the best whenever you can. It's your body, and anything less than the best is less than you deserve. Follow your gut and don't feel bad. It's your body and you are your best advocate.

I know that this goofy little mole thing that I'm cleaning up on my breast is absolutely NOTHING like breast cancer, but it makes me feel for all of the women that have (or have had) breast cancer. That is some scary, scary stuff and for me it has been incredibly violating. I have a whole new respect for breast cancer fighters, survivors, and victims. I admire you. Truly.

Crab Apple Kitty

Stella is in kitty cat heaven. At the vet's office, she was gently given a sedative and she walked into my lap. She relaxed, and when it was time, I laid her down onto a blanket. They injected her rear leg so that I could pet her head. I laid my face onto the table, and looked into her eyes. I told her how wonderful she was and what a good girl she was being. I watched the light go out of her eyes, and although I was sobbing, it was a relief to know that she wasn't in pain any longer.

It's amazing how quickly health can deteriorate. Yesterday was the first time I've watched life go out of a body. It was not easy. All I can hope is that when I die, I will have someone petting my head, looking me in the eyes and telling me kind things.

It wasn't just me with Stella yesterday, it was also my mom and dad. We all cried. We all loved her. I couldn't help them, I didn't have it in me, but they buried her underneath their crab apple tree. It's a befitting location since she was also known as a big B to so many. My mom always laughed that I would call her Pretty Pretty Princess. Stella was a tough, sassy, sharp clawed time bomb that was not safe around children or most adults. But to me, she was my tame little kitten.