High Anxiety

You’d think after having 50 some odd moles removed over the course of my lifetime I’d become less scared about hearing the biopsy results of said brown bumps.  In my case with age comes increasing fear, whether it’s my newfound anxiety over flying ($^%@ turbulence) or the magical thinking that my brain engages in when the whole truth is unavailable.

For the past two months I’ve been chasing down a lab report for a mole removed in early March.  I wasn’t too worried about it, thinking that if it were of grave concern my doctor would have tried to speed the process with the second opinion.  However, thanks to a rather tactless lab assistant’s comments yesterday, I became fully convinced that I had melanoma and was going to die (she said the word ‘blood work’, which is never good news).  Drama anyone?  The fact that this secondary lab has taken its own sweet time with the biopsy didn’t help quell my fears – I only saw two months of potential treatment gone.   Suffice to say it’s been hard to shake the thought of this since then.

In any case, after too much red wine and chocolate last night (i can haz antioxidants?) and the bleary realization that I’d find out the truth today, I was relieved to hear that the melanoma of my nightmares is merely an atypical mole that requires the to remove a bit more around the area.  I’ve had these before, so hearing this news from the far more tactful nurse who is assigned the task of speaking with patients (for good reason, as it turns out) has released the looming fear of mortality for now.

Time to celebrate – I’m going out and buying more of my favorite Neutrogena sunblock.

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