All clear

I'm relieved. I don't have skin cancer.

I arrived at the hospital at 9.30, Christian having dropped me off after an impromptu night in Cambridge due to a meeting in Hertford this morning. I found the outpatients section, followed the signs to Clinic 7, checked in, and found waiting area C.

I was taken to a consulting room by a lovely lady called Audrey, and sat for a while. Two medical students came in and took down my history and story. They were nice. They went away, and came back with the consultant, Dr Burrows. He was very jolly and friendly. He asked me some questions, and then had a look at me with a strange lighted contact eyeglass thing that needed lubricant.

The mole on my back was definitely fine, and he was very dubious about the one on my side. It just has a lighter edge rather than a halo. He concentrated quite hard on the one on my chest, but it apparently has pigment that's regularly meshed, and so it's not a problem yet. I'm to keep a close eye on it, though, and measure it. I'll take lots of photos.

He gave the students a little lesson on the various marks on my back and arms, which was quite entertaining.

He then sent me off to medical photography to be photographed, which was quite fun, too. A girl with a big Nikon and two enormous flash guns took some photos.

Anyway, panic over. It's amazing how you play scenarios through in your head when you consider that you might not be alive for more than a year. My overriding angst was that just having found Christian, I wouldn't have been able to spend any decent amount of time with him. Crazy.

The other moles

I saw the doctor this morning.

I was a bit teary in the waiting room, seeing all the posters talking about supporting people with cancer, but I was fine when I went in. The doctor looked me over, starting with my front, making a few comments. I braced myself for an exclamation of horror as she saw the mole in question on my back. None came. She said it was more of a warty thing and nothing to worry about. Any colours on it were in keeping with the freckly nature of my skin.

She is concerned about the big dark mole on my chest, however, and a small dark one on my left side with a halo. So she's given me a referral to the dermatologist at Addenbrooke's to check those out. She said she doesn't think they'll be problematic, but it doesn't hurt to be sure.

So I'm relieved that the one that Christian spotted isn't an issue, and that the doctor didn't immediately diagnose a late-stage Melanoma, but the immediacy of a hospital visit will bring back some panic, I'm sure. The appointment is for next Friday morning.

The mole

I don't have time to regularly keep up a blog. I just thought I'd start one in the event of something to say right now.

Christian recently told me that a mole on my back had changed to the point where he noticed it. I was last checked out by a doctor before I left Australia, and Dad (and apparently Mum, though I can't remember that) had warned me at Christmas that at least one of my moles looked fishy. But it wasn't until Christian mentioned it, because he sees my back regularly, that I was frightened into doing something about it.

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I read up on the Cancer Council website today about what to expect. I am in a high risk category because I have a lot of 'atypical' moles, I have been badly sunburnt on a number of occasions, I have a family history of problematic skin (Dad), and I grew up in a hot country. It's too late now to lament not getting myself checked out more regularly, but I'm wishing I hadn't been so bloody lazy.

Strangely, right now it's the pain of having a mole cut out that scares me more than dying of cancer.