Cancer comes calling

I’ve always had moles, and as I put more years on the clock I got a little more spotty as a result of those shirtless days outdoors in my youth. Sunscreen was often something you wished you’d put on after you’d inadvertently baked your back and turned yourself into a glowstick.

Regular GP checks revealed nothing untoward. A tiny but persistent itch on my back encouraged me to see a skin cancer specialist. That resulted in me exchanging a large amount of money for a bit of nip and tuck. Tying my shoelaces and sleeping on my back were off the agenda for a while.

A week later the test results came back and the doctor’s suspicion was confirmed, one of the spots was melanoma. This news was a minor mindfuck. Cancer was something that happened to other people. Now I had this bastardy bunch of cells in my back that could kill me if I let them have their way. Cancer is such a weird thing. Something that your body has created which has murderous intent. Bloody traitor, it’s supposed to be on my side!

That evening, I dived under the house and pulled out the best bottle of red I could find to celebrate this discovery. People give me a strange look when I relate this. I can see them thinking, Fuck, you’re weird. Which is probably true, but in this case, I have some logic. I’m very happy they’ve found it - because the alternative of it going undetected is pretty arse.

Discovering your body has suicidal tendencies makes you pay attention. Traditional signals of success quickly tumble off the list. You examine your relationships, think about experiences yet to have, and reassess goals. But for all our supposed intelligence, why do we need these types of events to remind us what matters?

And I’m guessing over time this new clarity will dim and normal service will resume. Just like it has after every funeral I’ve been to. You sit there on the pew quietly wondering what people would say about you at your own funeral. Then you think about what you’d like them to say about you. Then you promise yourself that you are going to close that yawning gap (while feeling slightly guilty for thinking about yourself instead of the person you’re there for).

Is that drift back to life BC an indication of resilience from adjusting to the new reality? Or is it a sign of forgetfulness? Or simply more evidence of what lazy creatures we are because it’s easiest to do what requires little change in routine or thinking? The latter I suspect. We are creatures of habit, especially when everything around us remains the same it’s difficult to embed new behaviours. A bit like the New Year’s resolution to exercise more or eat better. Saying something is a whole lot easier than doing it (the exception being ordering vs drinking beer in a non-English speaking country!).

So, Andrew, I hear you ask, what are you going to do to avoid your predicted reversion to life BC? Good question. Be like Nike and just do it? Start journaling? Put a sign on my wall? Tattoo some affirmation on my forearm?

Given the discovery of these bastardy rogue cells on me, the chances of finding more in the coming years have just leaped up. This means my skin doctor will be joining my payroll and we’re going to become besties. So my intention is this new routine will serve as the trigger to remind me what I should be paying attention to (the snow forecast, finding the perfect cheese scone, delivering coffee to my lovely wife in the morning, and putting sunscreen on).