I'm One in a Million #truestory

How many of you have a mole on your finger? According to my doctor, that's very rare. He hardly ever sees someone with a mole on a finger. Maybe two in a year. 

As a woman who deals with body issues, I always loved my hands. They were one of my best features, if you didn't look to closely at my chewed down nails. My fingers were long and thin, the back of my hand plump. Everything in a nice proportion. Best of all, they worked great! 

As a writer, my fingers would peck away at the keyboard all hours of the day as I penned my stories of love and happily ever afters. I didn't spend a lot of time and energy on my hands. No fancy nails. They were hardly ever polished, most often natural and trimmed short. I loved what they did, from baking scones to applying lotion to my baby's bottom. 

It was my daughter that mentioned that the mole on my left hand was looking dark. In passing, she'd mentioned that "you should get that looked at". My husband agreed with her. Besides it was time for a full body check. I hadn't had one in years. But there wasn't anything I was worried about...it was my husband who had issues with skin cancer. 

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I was able to get a pretty quick appointment for the skin doctor because I mentioned that my regular doctor was worried about a few spots. I had a lot of skin markings along my legs, stomach and back. Those I was worried about. They often itched and became irritated. While my regular doctor told me those were normal, I wanted to see the specialist in the hopes they had a magic cure for those spots. 

The doctor wasn't worried. My spots were normal. Even the adult acne on my face was treatable. The mole on my finger, my middle finger was unusual, but even rarer than having one.... was having one that was cancer. He prescribed some medication and suggested we take off the finger mole, just because. 

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The surgery was successful and the mole was removed. He'd stitched the area up and when I went back in two weeks later to get the stitches out, the doctor told me that I was one in a million. The mole was cancer. While he was fairly sure that he'd gotten all the cancer during the first surgery, he wanted to go back in and make sure. Words like margins were talked about. So was reconstruction. Because my finger wasn't very big, taking more would mean that my finger would have a deep hole in it, one not able to be stitched back together. 

Instead the doctor wanted to take part of the back of my hand and move it over to the finger, giving it a more normal appearance. I'd already faced two surgeries to get rid of "cancerous cells", getting this surgery was a no brainer. The second surgery was scheduled about a month out to give my finger time to heal up from the last one. 

I wasn't worried about how it'd look. I was more grateful that we'd found it early and that the doctor could get it all. 

​Saving my life?? a no brainer. 

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Needless to say, I wasn't prepared for what would happen, nor how much I used my hand. The doctor had warned me about pulling the stitches. I was told to "take it easy". Of course, that was easier said than done. Typing was a challenge. I could finger peck with my right hand. Anything from opening a door to putting toothpaste on my toothbrush was a challenge. I did overuse my hand. I did pull my stitches, but it was impossible not to. Two more weeks and I'd get the stitches out. But the reconstruction was major. It impacted three fingers and the back of my hand. The doctor had taken the skin from the back of my hand and moved it up and over to my finger to use where he'd taken out so much. 

Just a warning... the images below are graphic. They are from the day of the surgery and the weeks after. You can see how my hand changed. I faced an infection from the stitches. My body didn't like them. I had scab issues and more infection even after the stitches were out. This wasn't a journey I thought to take but as I said before... the choice was clear. I wanted the cancer out. 

What a long way from the beginning until the end. The doctor shared with me the report that he had gotten all the cancer. My hand is still tight and I'm finding the interior stitches poking through my skin on a daily basis, forcing me to remove them. But I can type and use my hand. Even more importantly--I don't have to worry about whether the doctor got it all or if cancer will show up once more. 

Halfway through this adventure, my husband told me that he probably wouldn't have recommended the surgery, knowing how hard it had been on my hand. But I'm glad it's done. It will be interesting if next year, I look at my hand and will see the changes to it. Once more I can lift that middle finger and say "Fuc# Cancer".