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.