All That to Say: It's Not Not

A few weeks ago, I went into the dermatologist to have some things looked at that were more annoying that worrisome.  While I was there, she noticed a freckle on my arm and asked me how long it had been there.  I smiled and said, "Uh, all my life?"  Does anyone really notice when a "freckle" appears?

She got out her little magnifying glass and said, "I think this might be a freckle gone bad.  Mind if I remove it?"  (She's very polite, this dermatologist of mine!)

I assured her I didn't mind at all.  So she gave me a few shots in my bicep and dug a freaking HOLE in my arm  removed said wayward freckle and told me she'd have the results in a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks later, I got a phone call from the doctor.  Technically, I missed the call from the doctor, who called me back again the next morning, very early, which totally freaked me out and made me think I was dying, and I missed THAT call.

When we finally connected she said, "We got your results back." (GULP)  "The good news is, it's not melanoma." (SIGH OF RELIEF)  "But it's not, not cancer."  (WHAT?)

Her explanation was that it was beyond "precancerous" and was dangerously turning.  Therefore they have to go back into my arm and get some clear margins.   She said I would have about 8 stitches and a scar.  Joy.

She told me to count myself lucky that I had come in for something else, and that I'd had on a tank top, allowing her to see my freckle.  (A freckle just doesn't sound like it can be so bad.  The word freckle even makes me smile.)

Anyway, that lovely procedure is happening this morning.

I'd appreciate your prayers.

All that to say, I'm  not worried.  But I'm not, not worried.