History
December 29, 2008
You are alone, when you receive news like that. Or perhaps I should say, I was alone. All alone, looking at posters that say things like, “Wishes Can Come True, Ask Your Doctor About Our New Ways to Stay Looking Younger.”
I wonder, was it rage that welled inside my heart, as my pale white body waited? The white body, with red splotches covered only by the thin paper gown, listened for the nurse to knock and give me a shot to numb my leg, so they could “punch” out a mole that didn’t look "all that great". Perhaps it was fear at how quick my mind transported me back to that moment when Dr. Mata casually told me I had melanoma.
Wrinkles? Aging?
‘God, if we could all only be so lucky!’ I couldn’t help but think. It must have been respect. In that moment, I must have felt respect for the wrinkles and for age. I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the poster that hung silently in front of me. My mind flashed a thousand thoughts, but there I sat, serenely and quietly waiting. Waiting for the shot. Waiting for the leg to feel numb, for the mole to be dropped into the jar, into a liquid that would preserve it until it could be sent to the lab, so they could tell me that everything is fine.
But, what I realized is that I am not waiting to hear anything. Because everything IS fine and I suppose it is good to be reminded of that moment, that day when I walked in to Dr. Mata’s office alone, three and half years ago and had no idea what would happen. How on Earth was I supposed to know, know, that a four-inch scar on the back of my leg would give me life? Would show me how much love was contained in a Mother’s hand that would rest gently on my back as I picked an oncologist. Or how sweet laughter would be in a six-pack of beer and a take out pizza with two girlfriends. Or what it meant to have a sister that researched every question she should ask, just on the mere chance that she would be the one who got to sit next to me the next time news was to be given.
I guess we never know how things change us, they just do and if we are really lucky we are better in the end with the wrinkles.
This week I have come home, to spend the holidays with my family and friends. Tonight, as I sat in the middle of a Johnson/Utter dinner, I felt a little quiet. My Dad leaned over and asked if everything was all right. I answered, “Yes.” And in my head, I thought to myself, ‘it is better than just all right.” I feel quiet, but it was as if I was trying to somehow magically record every emotion and statement made, if I just paid close enough attention, perhaps, I could hold on to it forever.
But, I suppose that is futile. Instead, I guess you just hold on to the moments. The vision of the kelly green pants and the red crew neck sweater that would greet you late on Christmas night. Or you try to record the sound of the boys’ giggles as they snapped pictures of their faces on twirl effect. The epiphany of what a cousin’s laugh would bring, making you realize that so much of who you are, runs in the family. Then, listening to the Johnsons and realizing how much of who you are has absolutely nothing to do with the blood that pumps through your veins.
In three days, I will board a plane and head back to Milan and in so many ways it will feel too long to wait to see everyone again. So instead, I suppose, I should just do what Cooper always says, “Hold em in your heart, deep.”
(BENIGN... It was diagnosed Benign 1/11/09)
You are alone, when you receive news like that. Or perhaps I should say, I was alone. All alone, looking at posters that say things like, “Wishes Can Come True, Ask Your Doctor About Our New Ways to Stay Looking Younger.”
I wonder, was it rage that welled inside my heart, as my pale white body waited? The white body, with red splotches covered only by the thin paper gown, listened for the nurse to knock and give me a shot to numb my leg, so they could “punch” out a mole that didn’t look "all that great". Perhaps it was fear at how quick my mind transported me back to that moment when Dr. Mata casually told me I had melanoma.
Wrinkles? Aging?
‘God, if we could all only be so lucky!’ I couldn’t help but think. It must have been respect. In that moment, I must have felt respect for the wrinkles and for age. I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the poster that hung silently in front of me. My mind flashed a thousand thoughts, but there I sat, serenely and quietly waiting. Waiting for the shot. Waiting for the leg to feel numb, for the mole to be dropped into the jar, into a liquid that would preserve it until it could be sent to the lab, so they could tell me that everything is fine.
But, what I realized is that I am not waiting to hear anything. Because everything IS fine and I suppose it is good to be reminded of that moment, that day when I walked in to Dr. Mata’s office alone, three and half years ago and had no idea what would happen. How on Earth was I supposed to know, know, that a four-inch scar on the back of my leg would give me life? Would show me how much love was contained in a Mother’s hand that would rest gently on my back as I picked an oncologist. Or how sweet laughter would be in a six-pack of beer and a take out pizza with two girlfriends. Or what it meant to have a sister that researched every question she should ask, just on the mere chance that she would be the one who got to sit next to me the next time news was to be given.
I guess we never know how things change us, they just do and if we are really lucky we are better in the end with the wrinkles.
This week I have come home, to spend the holidays with my family and friends. Tonight, as I sat in the middle of a Johnson/Utter dinner, I felt a little quiet. My Dad leaned over and asked if everything was all right. I answered, “Yes.” And in my head, I thought to myself, ‘it is better than just all right.” I feel quiet, but it was as if I was trying to somehow magically record every emotion and statement made, if I just paid close enough attention, perhaps, I could hold on to it forever.
But, I suppose that is futile. Instead, I guess you just hold on to the moments. The vision of the kelly green pants and the red crew neck sweater that would greet you late on Christmas night. Or you try to record the sound of the boys’ giggles as they snapped pictures of their faces on twirl effect. The epiphany of what a cousin’s laugh would bring, making you realize that so much of who you are, runs in the family. Then, listening to the Johnsons and realizing how much of who you are has absolutely nothing to do with the blood that pumps through your veins.
In three days, I will board a plane and head back to Milan and in so many ways it will feel too long to wait to see everyone again. So instead, I suppose, I should just do what Cooper always says, “Hold em in your heart, deep.”
(BENIGN... It was diagnosed Benign 1/11/09)
Comments
My wife was diagnosed with melanoma about ten years ago. It was caught early and there has been no recurrence. But she is extremely careful to avoid as much sunlight as possible.
Best Wishes....