Getting NAKED with Melanoma

    

 Even though the month of June in our little Missouri towns have been full of overcast skies and rain, we can still get overexposed to the sun's harmful rays.  I know we all want to feel the warmth since our Winter clamored on for so long and we really haven't been able to enjoy it much, but we must be careful about those burns.

     Yes, you can obtain a sunburn even if the sky is gray!

        As a child, I do not remember anyone making a big deal about sunscreen and it seemed we could stay outside for hours without obtaining that crispy layer of red over our body surface.  Those days are gone!  We have destroyed our protection in the atmosphere and if a blanket of sunscreen is not applied to our delicate outer body layer, we are turning crimson within twenty minutes.

     So let's go to the tanning booth!  Yeah! Noooooo!

     Of course studies relay that "fake tanning" can be equally as harmful or worse than the rays of the real sun.  My option is to spray tan and I buy the good stuff so it blends well with my normal skin tone.

     Anyone and everyone should visit with a dermatologist, not just when you notice a problem, but yearly so you can catch irregularities before they become a problem.  

 

   Few people know this about me, but I developed melanoma at twenty-nine years of age.  Working in the medical field, I had easy access to my physician and asked him to assess a mole that had grown on my back for years.  The mark was hard for me to view myself so detecting change was difficult.  Explaining that I had a sensation that something wasn't quite right is the only reason I had for asking him his opinion.  One look and I was sent to the Dermatologist asap.  

   

  All of us who work in health care understand that when the patient receives a call directly from the physician, all is not well.  That ugly mole that was not causing me any pain or discomfort was cancer.  Finding it in the early stages was essential and it was only detected because I had a "sensation".  It is important to listen to our bodies. 

     That initial finding was ten years ago.   Since then I am accustomed to visiting with my Dermatologist every six months to a year due to finding several other severely atypical nevi, all located on my back.  Since then, my physician has removed more than forty suspicious moles from my body by freezing or shaving methods.(yuck!)  Three more have been surgically excised.  Those three in particular would have also developed into melanoma had we not caught them early. 

     I am not an avid sunbather, although I am a tom boy at heart, enjoying the outdoors inevitably equips me with some sun exposure.  I do take precautions with sunscreen, hats and staying covered up with adequate clothing.  Rarely have I found myself in a tanning bed and the times I can count were all prior to my diagnosis. 

     So why do I continue having these problems if I adhere to the precautions?   Genetic melanoma.  By definition, it is a genetic or inherited condition. This means that the risk of melanoma can be passed from generation to generation in a family.  Yes, there are others in my family that have acquired this condition.  So far, I am the only one it keeps coming after.  

  

   So I didn't do anything wrong, it is just in my body.  I have a predisposition towards the disease and by continuing to take precautions that include taking ten minutes to stand in front of my Dermatologist  naked, I can significantly decrease my risk. 

     Of course the scars are not attractive.  There have been many loud whispers behind me during summer months wondering what in the world would cause such large defects.  "Did I get knifed?" has been my favorite so far.   

     As most of you know, scars are a part of my life since my auto collision and hint at a story without using words.  Attaining these marks of survival instead of receiving treatment over advanced melanoma has been the better choice, even if I am left with a road map of visible challenges.  

Most likely I will acquire more, but each time I understand that because I take care of my health, I am controlling melanoma instead of melanoma controlling me.

Prevent. Detect. Live.

      Never be ashamed of a scar, it simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.

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Let's Go Home

       During those days after my second surgery there was an instant when my husband and my Mom were in the room with me, I was curious as to what actually happened to us.  Not quite understanding the details or maybe the details were blocked as a safety measure by my own instinct, I asked them for specifics about the crash. 

     I had no recollection that there were four vehicles involved.  I thought it was just him and I.  Four vehicles,that's a big deal.  Inquiring about the other motorist, they broke the news that we were hit by a drunk driver and that he did not survive.  

     Time froze in that moment of realization, complete shock encompassed me.  I could barely obtain a clear thought anyway, but this had me in astonishment.   Their images were obscured as I tried to grasp their words.  I was involved in a fatal car crash, this was hard to fathom.  I asked many questions.  Sometimes asking the same questions over again because I didn't recall asking them the first time.  This stage replays in my head many hours of the day as I try to comprehend.

  I was  involved in my own thoughts when I heard my Mom say something about my face.  Oh my Gosh!  I had been consumed with my ankles and hadn't even considered that I may have lacerations or burns.  In fact, I had not even looked at myself above the waist, at least that I could recall. 

      I asked for a mirror and they explained the left side of my face was burned from the airbag.   When I viewed my image I was a taken aback by the reflection.  I scanned my face and it was red from the burns and starting to peel in some places.  There was a perfect line down the center of my face since I had apparently turned my head to the right when we were struck.  

      I examined the rest of my body to find it was beaten up as well.   My left shoulder had a deep throb in it, like something was torn.  I had minimal movement with it.  Bruising was shown everywhere on my person especially on the left side of my body.  Deep, purple bruising.  My body was riddled with them as well as cuts and scrapes.   How my face and upper body were spared from the glass I can't figure out.  The glass had only penetrated once at my hair line and once above my lip.  Minor scars for such a severe tragedy.  




  

   Daytime softened into night and on my ninth day of being stationed on the orthopedic floor of the hospital, the day before I was released, I was jolted to consciousness by an immeasurable pain afflicting my right lower leg.  It was centered exactly over my fibula that had been crushed.   It stole my breath and ability to speak.  My husband was swiftly by my bedside asking what was causing such drama from me.  In the midst of expressing my thoughts, I could feel the spasms forthcoming.  It began slowly, as to let me know I had better prepare, then it rushed in a wave of convulsions.  I thought my leg was being shattered all over again.  

My husband called for the nurse as I collapsed back to my pillow.  The lines around my eyes grimaced as my eyes slammed shut, gasping.  There was a traction device over my bed and with the next spasm I grasped the handle and  growled as my teeth clenched together furiously.  Involuntary short grunts were coming out between my gritted teeth as I endured the torture.  

     This happened time and time again, never relenting.  This behavior is not an action I am accustomed to.  I have no control over this.  A sob escaped my lips as I was fighting another convulsion,  I can't take anymore.  "Please!" I begged silently.  In desperation, my husband grieved, " Oh Carey" as he laid his head on the bed beside me while grasping my right arm,  my amazing nurse let tears fall as I fought through this. She frantically called for the physician to obtain permission for an additional dose of Dilaudid.  My cries were great as she pushed the brilliant fluid through my IV.   Quickly the spasms subsided as I abandoned awareness.


     The humor of my coming experiences were just beginning.  The next morning all thoughts of the previous day were forgotten as my nurse entered my room explaining that I could be discharged as long as I had a bowel movement.  She was candidly holding a suppository in her hand and asked if I wanted her to insert it or if I preferred to do it myself.  My head whipped over to look at her hand and I was bewildered and appalled.   It was like she was asking me if I wanted cereal or eggs for breakfast.   "Uh, I'll do it" I stammered.
     
  Good grief, the things I have to go through!  I knew anytime you have surgery or an extended hospital stay that this was policy, I just hadn't thought about it for myself.  Later, I was abash when my husband informed me that this wasn't the first time I had encountered the nurse with a suppository.  I'm overjoyed that I don't remember these incidents. 

     A physical therapist taught me how to get out of bed and transfer myself to the wheelchair.  We toured the orthopedic floor as I learned to maneuver my new ride.   I giggled at the thought that they let me operate it while under the influence of such strong pain meds.   We were in good spirits and on the tenth day I was released to go home to live without Dilaudid.  

"When something bad happens to you, 

you have three choices.

You can let it define you, 

let it destroy you, 

or you can let it strengthen you."

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Don't Look, Mom's Poopin'- It Works!

     Okay, this is my first product promotion.  I am not a distributor, but believe in this product enough that I would like to share and encourage you to look into it.  Many of you may not know me well enough to read the words I later write in this blog.  Without your permission, I am taking our friendship to a different level.  After today's blog we are going to be like this:

     Using this product, proceeding my surgeries and anytime I am on pain medicine has been essential in my recovery.  I now, use this in my daily health routine.  Let me explain my reasoning.  

     Having, I believe, six surgeries that first year was toxic to my system.  Falling under anesthesia and dependent on pain killers deteriorates your health quickly when you do either in excess, much less both at the same time.  My hair became brittle, my skin ashen and blemished.  My body felt "heavy", like I couldn't rid myself of the aftereffects.  

     Here's the worst part.  I moved very little during that first year and a half of recovery, took a narcotic every 2-4 hours, was left with the effects of anesthesia swimming around in my carcass.  All of this creates uncomfortable side effects.  Among many side effects there is one that can develop atrocious pain and health issues.  A side effect no one ever talks about, but I sure wish someone would have warned me about before it became an ISSUE.   Want to take a guess?

     CONSTIPATION!  IF you do not understand this word, it means, You Cannot Poop!  At. All.   Not even a little pebble.  I would not bring this up if it wasn't such an ordeal to live through.  Somehow these episodes have made it to my long term memory where more enjoyable ones have not.  During the most dramatic events, I asked myself if the crushing of my bones was worse than attempting to push bricks through my bowels.  

     I also had to attempt the evacuation of those bricks while sitting on a commode in the middle of my living room.  Believe me when the urge hits, you cannot pass up that opportunity, even with four children passing through.  In that instance, I would grab a blanket, situate myself on my throne, let someone in the house know what was about to transpire and that it might take a while.  Much of the time that someone was my nine year old son who then skipped down the hall announcing to everyone in the house, "Don't look, Mom's poopin'!"  Thank you for that Drew.  I lay my head in my hands as sweat beads popped out all over my body from the amount of work and concentration that I was about to tackle.   Eventually it all worked itself out, but not before my small gorge felt like it split into the Grand Canyon.


    This company calls itself,  It Works!
 

  It has become quite popular in the last few years.  You cannot purchase these items in a retail location.  You may order online or better yet, finding a personal distributor to discuss your interest is best.  

     The product that I cannot live without are the Greens.  Orange or Berry Flavor powder is what I started with.

 

Currently the company has offered a Chewable.  This is my preference now.

 

The Greens detoxify, alkalize, and promote pH balance within the body.  I needed an agent to remove the toxins left over  from narcotics, especially.  The public has become more aware of the need to detox our bodies and this is a natural, safe and healthy way to accomplish that.

Understand that my case was extreme and took weeks to completely convert to the prior state and maintain.   Trust me, when it worked, my bottom was transformed into a machine gun, shooting out bullets the size of pool balls.

Let's end there.

Blogging: May I ask Why?

     Sure.  I've never had anyone ask why I want to blog about my experience.  I've had plenty ask me if I will talk about it.  You are curious.  It's a natural instinct. 

      How many of us live through a trauma like that and are able to confess intimate details of the exact moments leading up to the most formidable juncture of your entire life?   

     I would take a gander that there are few.  I have been asked out of genuine inquisitiveness about specific moments before, during and after the impact.  I have never taken offense to any inquiries.   The same interest afflicted myself and I was the one who lived it! 

     The reason we are so interested is without having lived through it, we cannot fathom the thoughts, the emotions or the terror our minds process in those few short seconds.

     Granted I can pull up certain moments, but they are only moments.  I wouldn't be able to tell the story without the help of others.   I had pieces of the puzzle, but I needed the rest filled in so I could fully understand what happened to us.  

      Think of it like this: you are watching a dramatic, intense movie and you are interrupted consistently.  A moment peaks and you rush back to the screen and you are upset and asking questions of why, how, but I don't understand! 

       Being in control of my life is essential to my existence, but  having those black holes in my memory was eating at me.  I needed it explained.  I needed the whole story.   I needed to know that I tried to help my children, that I tried to avoid the collision,  how my family was coping while we were being extricated, that I was calm and not a raving lunatic while the rescuers picked away at my car with the 'jaws of life'. 
      
     My unfortunate husband was my primary resource and speaking of it made him uncomfortable.   To my dismay, I had him recall the same details over again.  The plethora of narcotics failed to let me remember our conversations.  The poor man deserves his halo, but I think sometimes he wants to take it off and choke me with it!

     From the moment I opened my eyes while laying in my hospital bed, I focused on looking forward.  Although I wasn't in denial about my predicament, I didn't dwell on it either. 
  



  For those of you who are asking why I would want to talk about it, I would say this:  it's time for me to heal.

     I cry each time I write, but I also purge.  Physically I am as good as I am going to get.  Now I must focus on something more powerful.   My mind, my emotions and moving on.  I have many more months of recovering from this last surgery, but once I am well, I will finally be able to stop surviving this "accident"  and truly start living my life again.
     And if another human being gains encouragement from my trials, well hey,  I'll kill two birds with one stone.
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