January 19, 2009
cancerland: documenting moles
Today I had naked pictures taken of myself. Totally nude. Yep.
Uh huh.
But seriously, before your mind starts going in a direction it's not meant to go in I was at the hospital, and it wasn't fun. (Some of you are thinking, "Of course it wasn't fun! You said naked photos!" while others of you are thinking, "Bummer dude. It should have been loads of fun." I myself am Switzerland, meaning I will not make my position clear.)
This is what I knew going in: I knew I was going to get my moles photographed at the Pigmented Lesion Group of one of the top ten hospitals in the country. (Posters all over the place informing me of such.) Such photographing would include nakedness on my part, and a paper g-string supplied by the hospital.
I was dreading it, but I also had a fool-proof plan. My plan was to rock that paper g-string as hard as a 42-year-old mother of 3 could rock it, whilst at the same exact time imagining myself to be anywhere but where I was. Shelba helpfully added that I should just act like I wasn't naked and I agreed that it seemed best.
The fool-proof plan proved to have a few flaws, the largest of which was that when it came down to it there was no paper g-string to rock. Just me in all my 42-year-old, not that fit, naked glory. The good news was that the whole thing took 10 minutes, and I think the young-ish female photographer was almost as appalled as I. She was completely matter-of-fact during the posing and shooting, which I think is probably the best possible way to be in the entire, whole huge universe.
So my crappy cancerous skin has been documented and now just for kicks we get to get the photos out each month and compare the moles, looking for changes.
I must add that the Pigmented Lesion Group holding area (a.k.a. the melanoma doctors) is not the cheeriest waiting room I have ever inhabited. The book on Mexico I read while waiting for my turn did nothing to make me think happy thoughts. I was the youngest person there by at least 15 years. The exam room was creepily reminiscent of a completely normal photography studio, but with the usual exam room medical stuff that I generally try hard not to look at when I am feeling vulnerable. Ten minutes can feel very very very long indeed. I practically ran out of there, yelling "thx so mch" on my way out the door.
This appointment is part of Amy's Grand Plan To Combat Cancer, which we will talk more about in the coming weeks. I did it. I'm lucky that I could, lucky that the Pigmented Lesion Group would even see me with my measly little almost-melanoma diagnosis, lucky that I have something to do to give me the teensiest feeling of control in an out-of-control situation. I'm lucky. I know I am.
Posted by grrlTravels at January 19, 2009 7:15 PMOh, I can top that one. I once found a hard black nodule on my privates. Not having had a new sexual partner since I met my husband some 15 years earlier, I thought, "No big deal, it's nothing, it'll disappear."
A month went by and it was still there, so I went to the doctor, stripped from the waist down, and assume the position in the stirrups.
"Oh, look at that!" he murmured as he fingered the thing. "Huh. I wonder what that is," he asked himself.
Acutely embarrassed, I tried to joke, "Well, at least we know it's not a melanoma!"
"Actually, some of the most aggressive and difficult to treat melanomas occur on skin that has never been exposed to the sun. I had one poor fellow who had a melanoma inside his nose. I know of another patient that had one in their eyelid. I think we should biopsy this," he replied.
"Oh, of course, go ahead," I said, but the whole time I was thinking, "Couldn't you have spared me the scary melanoma thoughts at least until I had my panties on?"
(It turned out to be a "thrombosed hemangioma," which is fancy talk for "nothing.")
Posted by: victoria at January 21, 2009 12:41 PMwell i had a melanoma that showed up as a dark line starting in my nail bed of my big toe. so, yes, they can be anywhere. of course i have also had 20 or so bcc and scc over the past 7 or 8 yrs so i guess i shouldn't be surprised by any of it.
Posted by: kris at January 21, 2009 10:43 PMOh dear. Thromobosed hemangioma has me wincing. And um, crossing my legs.
I'm curious what you and the photographer talked about during this. Did y'all talk about everything BUT what y'all were doing? Ugh. I'm glad it is over with, girl. And I know you are too!!
Posted by: Shelba at January 26, 2009 12:18 PMWe did not talk. She said, "Turn to your right, arms straight down, head up." click. "Now turn to your left, same pose." click. "Now face me, right arm straight out, palm up. Good." click. Each time she told me something she did it too, but it seemed to me to be quite different with clothes and sans clothes. All the meanwhile I hummed and thought about Mexico. And socks.
Posted by: Amy/grrlTravels at January 26, 2009 3:27 PM