BENIGN!!!!

Here's the deal:

I have some freckles on an area that we'll call...my Upper Upper Thigh (otherwise known as UUT). I've noticed them over the years and every so often I'll do some contortions with a hand mirror to get a good look at them.

I'll leave it at that.

A few weeks ago, I had a gynecologist appointment and asked her about one of the areas, where it looked a little discolored. She said we could do one of two things:

1. Wait six months and keep an eye on it.
2. Do a "punch biopsy," which is basically like taking a very small melon-baller (we're taking anywhere from 3-6 mm) to the area and send that off to pathology.

What it could have been:
1. Melanoma (even though this is an area that does not see much sun)
2.Nothing.
3. Skin cancer that wasn't melanoma
4. Precancerous changes
5. Other miscellaneous and weird things found on the internet at 1:30 a.m.

Great. I think to myself: I sign up to run Boston benefiting the Melanoma Foundation of New England...and I get melanoma. Not hypochondria, but awful, terrible irony.

If it were melanoma, the area would have to be cut out. Believe me when I tell you that I do not want the area to be cut out. Or  to be cut into. I like my UUT. I've had only compliments about my UUT. It serves me well. It's not something I wanted mutilated or otherwise sliced.

And also: I'm 37. I like my life. I enjoy it. I have so much more to do. There's no way I'm dying without publishing a goddamn book.

So I was freaking the fuck out. My dad had skin cancer diagnosed on his arm when he was younger than I am now. I won't go down the whole family tree of health boredom but suffice it to say this: Cancer is rampant in my family.

If you know me, you know that I was absent the day patience was handed out. (In fact, I must have called in sick that whole week, because I'm also lacking in tolerance, altruism, and good will--but I digress.)

I made the first appointment for a biopsy--ten days away.

Still freaking the fuck out.Going on the internet--even though that was the Worst Thing I Could Do--and looking at pictures, reading stories. Even on my lunch hour at work--it's a good thing I work in the medical field where it's "normal" to have weird-looking items on my desktop, all in the name of research.

 I know it was scary and alarmist and not the advice I'd give anyone, but come on. You're going to do it. It's like not thinking of an elephant.

I spent a lot of time with the mirror in various yoga positions, analyzing.

I told myself to stop. Sometimes I listened.

I told myself it would be fine. Sometimes I listened.

I told myself it wouldn't be fine. Sometimes I listened.

I made magical thinking deals in my head, late at night and first thing in the morning. "If it's not cancer, I'll be nice. I'll be nice to people I don't even like. I promise." (See tolerance, lackthereof.)

At the biopsy on Tuesday, I brought my husband, but left him in the waiting room.

I made jokes. There was bleeding. There was more bleeding. Then I made more jokes. "Cleanup on Aisle 5!"

I was told I'd know by Friday.

I did more magical thinking. My husband said, "It's going to be FINE. I PROMISE." I wanted to believe him. And I also wanted to see what would happen when he was wrong and had to backtrack and then I could add another coin to the bank of Carin's Right Again.

But this morning, I thought to myself: You know what? It will be okay. Say it's cancer. Say it's cut into. It won't be so bad. It's not a large area. My health is good. I eat right. I'm a runner. We'll get it early. I'm healthy, mostly. I have support. I am loved. I have the most amazing people in my life.

I went to unplug my phone from its charger this morning and that's when I saw I had a voicemail from my doctor's office.

BENIGN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What a wonderful, wonderful word.

The best.

It was relief like...I can't even believe it. Like sinking into the softest, best bed after the hardest, worst day.

And I'm more than happy to admit to my husband that he was RIGHT.

And I'm still healing from the biopsy and going to take a couple more days off from running. But that's FINE. I don't CARE.

And the other good news: My ferritin is at 49, which is the highest it has been in a while. So that's the bad news: If I have a bad run I can't blame my iron levels.

Yes, I am relieved. But I am really hoping I don't come across as smug. Please.

I have family who've had cancer. I have friends who've had it. Some of them have survived and have gone on to beat the fuck out of things, to slay cancer like Buffy. And some of them haven't gone on.

I always thought I was aware and supportive of people who were going through cancer. It took a scare like this for me to realize that I wasn't. I had NO FUCKING CLUE. For every ocean of relief I float on, there is someone else who got heartbreaking news.

What can I do? How can I help? What happens after I finish fundraising?

I don't know.

There is a lot  more I can do, or that I should be doing. I was lucky. Very, very fucking lucky. There may be a day when I'm not so lucky. I don't know what I can do in the meantime.

Last year I started writing down, at the end of each day, an "awesome thing of the day" that happened.  Some of those things were more awesome than others just in the way that some days are more awesome than others. Some days it was an awesome, dramatic event--requalifying for Boston. Some days I scrounged. "Good sushi roll that didn't fall apart."

I'm doing the awesome thing of the day this year, too.But maybe now I need to add something to it--because I feel almost...guilty in my relief? How can I make even more out of each day and make others aware of that, too?

I don't know. Ideas?