"Your melanoma is invasive.  It's as big as a quarter, and has burrowed through all the layers of your skin.  We'll need to take a wide excision around it, and check your lymph nodes to see if it's made it that far."  

I was stunned.  This was ridiculous.  I'm only in my mid 40s.  What am I doing with cancer?  I was in for several months of procedures and checkups, including seven surgical procedures.  I had at least one doctor's appointment a week for four months.

I was also lucky.  If the melanoma had made it to the nearby lymph nodes, it would have spread throughout my body.  Chemotherapy is usually ineffective.  My chances of living another two years would have been about 10%.  But since it apparently stopped just short, my chances are now about 95%.  I like those odds.  Now, I just have to get a head-to-toe checkup every three months.  A small price to pay.

I do have some things I wonder about.  A friend of mine, a well-known radio announcer in this area, had recently died from the same type of cancer that I had.  Why did he die, and why was I spared?  Why did I wait so long to have that itching mole checked?  What if the dermatologist had let me talk her out of doing a biopsy?  Why did one of the most respected cancer specialists in the country happen to be practicing at my local hospital -- and take my case?  I guess I'll never have the answers.

Am I bitter about my cancer?  Not at all.  Oh, I could have done without that recovery period after the surgeries, but -- you may not believe I'm saying this -- that cancer did me a favor.

I have always been a procrastinator.  Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.  That came to a screeching halt in my doctor's office.  All those things I had planned to do when I got a chance?  I decided that I'd better make my chances.  Those projects that I've always wanted to do, but hadn't done, are going to get done.  The web site you're reading is the first.

My job, and my career, always came first with me.  No more -- my priorities are now in order.  My relationship with God is now first.  My family is second.  My friends are third.  My job comes in there in fourth place.  I no longer consider my job to be an essential part of my identity.  It's a paycheck -- nothing more.  Oh, my job is more pleasant than scrubbing sewer pipes, and I still try to do the best work I can.  But if I lost my job, I'd be sad for about five seconds.  Then I'd look forward to the challenge of finding a new job -- or making my own job.

I will never take a day for granted again.  We never know how many we have left.  Even though it looks like I'm past the cancer, I'm approaching the age where I have more days behind me than I have ahead of me.  I stop and smell the roses, and the violets, and the daisies, and the gladiolas.  I pat puppies on the head whenever possible.  Iguanas, too.  (Not cats -- I'm still allergic to them.  Nothing personal.)

As an engineer, I know that equipment responds to maintenance, or stops running from neglect.  I'm starting to take better care of my most important equipment -- myself.  I'm following orders, doing an exercise program, eating the right things.  Fortunately, I don't smoke, and I was never much for drinking alcohol, so I don't have to deal with that.

Did having cancer scare me?  You bet.  I needed to be scared.  Do I feel sorry for myself?  No way.

It's one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Back to the top