And then I panicked...

Around a year ago at this time, I was sitting in a training about helping children deal with tragedy and loss. As a mental health professional in a military school district, I was participating in some professional development around the grieving child. It was excellent and engaging material.

But I had something on my mind at the same time.

I had received a voice mail the night before from the dermatologist. They had asked for me to call them back. They had said that they would call whether it was “good news or bad,” but I was feeling a little anxious when all the message said was, “Please call us back.”

Now, I know that my biopsies could come back with that “harmless” skin cancer type or a very fatal one. That was really the extent of my knowledge about it.

I knew that I had grown up in the 80’s in Phoenix and no one used sun screen at that time. I also discovered the evil joys of the tanning bed in my 20’s, loving the deep color it gave my legs and the little boost in confidence come summertime. Fucking vanity.

There was a nagging thought in my head as I sat and listened to the effects on a child when experiencing the stress of a fatally ill parent in the home.
I would never want my child to experience that…

My phone vibrated. I excused myself. My heart was beating out of my chest. I figured it was the dermatologist’s office calling me back in our second round of phone tag to give me the results.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Kristina?” The receptionist asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Hi! This is (for crying out loud, I don’t remember her name) from the Colorado Springs Skin Cancer Specialists, and I’m calling to schedule your surgery.

…(empty space and time)…

And then I panicked.

Surgery? Specialist? Cancer?

What the fuck was going on?!

“Um, have you not heard from your doctor yet?” the perky receptionist asked.

“No, I haven’t,” I said, my voice tight.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, I can explain what is going on…” And she went on to say that I had basal cell carcinoma on my neck, and I would need something called Mohs surgery to have it removed.

After I got off the phone, I looked in at the people in the training. I could not go back in there. I started crying. I. Freaked. Out.

All these people told me, “Basal cell! No big deal! It will get taken care of. You are fine.”

I believed them in my heart. I was thankful it was basal cell and not something more difficult or life threatening to deal with. But at the time, I still felt fear and all I could think of was that I didn’t want to feel that way around my child.

I didn’t want my child to suffer in any way that I had been hearing about in my training. I only want my child to be happy forever. For us to be a happy family forever. Isn’t that what every parent really wants?

When something, anything threatens that, it’s only natural that the hair on our neck is raised.

Looking back on the whole experience, I regret having panicked so much in the moment and in front of co-workers. Of course, everything worked out ok. Of course, the basal cell was not too big of a deal in the long run.

I am so grateful for that.

And, here I sit, about a year later, with a bandage on my toe and on my face. Another biopsy. Waiting again. Staying strong. Hoping for good news.

This post was written in response to Mama Kat's writer's workshop. The prompt was "And then I panicked."