So, I saw my Dr. today. She’s a very cool lady, a very down to earth, no-nonsense kinda person. I’ve had these colour changing spots on my chest for about 6 months now, and they were spreading. So, ’cause it was kinda concerning (after all, spots that change colour and size are something anyone should be concerned about), I looked it up.
Big mistake. Either I’m dying of skin cancer gone super melanoma and I’ve got months to live, or I’ve got some kinda weird fungal skin infection. Well, I didn’t like the idea of having a fungal infection of any type, but skin cancer is, shall we say, rather more concerning. Especially since my dad had skin cancer for most of his life. I had always been under the impression it had been caused by his being a welder and a farmer by trade, and being exposed to far more radiation than would be healthy (my dad use sunscreen – you jester you!!). But you never know, do you? Perhaps it wasn’t the massive doses of UVA and UVB he had been exposed to (and the whatever it is that a welding machine generates), but rather some weird genetic anomaly that I had inherited.
So, off to the doc I go. Well, not right away – I went after 5 hours of work – or rather fretting at my desk. Nothing got done today. I distracted myself with the internet, twitter, my co-workers, and email. Finally, 2:30 rolls around (the secretary at my doc’s office heard cancer and got me in on an emergency basis – to be fair I did tell her it could be the fungal thing, but she likes me too so I got in super fast), and I sit down, to wait another 1/2 hour as Dr. Z is running behind.
She comes in, I give her the run down, she takes a look and ….. you guessed it. I’m a hypochondriac. I have some weird fungal skin thing. A plain jane cream from the pharmacy will clear it up in a few days, now be a nice patient and go away. <sigh> And here I was, planning what I would do with my last few months and trying to figure out if I’d waste my last few precious “feeling healthy” days with chemo (I decided I would – I’d fight it tooth and nail, and go down clawing and screaming every single moment I had left).
Well, plan for the worst, hope for the best as they say – I’m not a pessimist, really. Nor am I an optimist. I’m a realist. The glass is both half full and half empty, depending on which way you look at it – and since bad days are optional I choose to focus on what we have, not what we don’t. And I plan to live for a very very long time. There are far too many things to do, places to go, things to see and experience in this little corner of the Universe we occupy.