Is Bigger Better?

Nope. Yes. Well, maybe. Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t. It all depends. You know how that goes. We’ve all wrestled with silly questions. If we’re talking about chocolate, or a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top, well then the answer is a resounding “Yes! Of course it is!”

But if we’re talking about the thickness (i.e. when measured from top to bottom) of a melanoma that’s been removed from your leg, then maybe not so much. You see, it all comes back to one’s perspective doesn’t it?

Well, that’s the scene that we’ve faced this past week. (I say “we” because Sharyn is walking—or hobbling—through this journey with me. As too are many other people.) We had two appointments with folks in our marvelous health care system on Wednesday—one with the plastic surgeon and the other for a CT scan at the Eagle Ridge Hospital.

The news from Dr. Nguyen was somewhat deflating. Healing progress of the skin graft on my leg has slowed down dramatically. Almost half of the skin graft has not taken. Apparently this is not unusual with a graft of this size, and she had on a previous occasion cautioned us that this might happen.

This leaves us facing two options. One is to have another skin graft done to cover the “un-taken” section of the wound. When I asked her where she’d take the skin from this time, she suggested that she could just balance it out by taking it from the other side of my stomach. I think this means finishing off the tummy-tuck operation so that I don’t look kind of lopsided.

My response to this was “Ouch! If you keep doing this I’m going to run out of skin!” She paused, gave my body a once-over glance, and said sweetly, “I don’t think so.” Wow! Another thing that leaves me going “Hmmm.” Okay, I get it.

The second option is to just leave it alone and not do anything more to the wound. (I use that word intentionally because it sounds nicer than “hole” or “gully” or if you’re a golfer, “bunker,” even though it could be accurately visualized using any of those words.) Then just let the body (that would be my body, but it hurts less to use the impersonal version) fix itself. It would eventually discard the skin grafted there and grow its own skin in that spot (although I had kind of been of the mind that any skin from this body is mine and not its).

This would take a long time. Which means that Sharyn would need to keep changing the dressing on it every day. She’s amazing! She insists she doesn’t mind. And she’s getting very good at it I might add. I think she likes to keep a close eye on the growth of the stomach hair that was transplanted down there. In case you wondered, it’s doing quite well.

Here’s another marvelous evidence of God’s grace in the timing of all this. As it turns out, my next surgery, to remove all the lymph nodes in the groin area, is scheduled for February 26^th. Dr. Nguyen will be in the hospital that day anyway and said she could just “drop into Dr. Granger’s operating room and do this skin graft" while I’m already out. (Out of consciousness, that is, or out of my mind—not out of the room.) So, no other surgery would have to be scheduled for this second episode of skin grafting.

We need to make a decision on what we want to do about dealing with the hole in my leg by our next appointment with Dr. Nguyen on February 18^th, a few days before the surgery. At this point we’re praying for some significant evidence of healing in that wound before the decision date. (If you want a specific prayer request, take note of that.) If we see good progress, then we’ll probably opt for no more skin grafting. I’d rather live with a lopsided posture caused by a one-sided tummy tuck than run the risk of another skin graft not taking.

Oh, and about the Is Bigger Better question? It seems that I’ve made the record books again. Dr. Nguyen described the object that she removed from my leg as the thickest melanoma she’d ever seen. Ever. Nice! At a little over 2 cm it beats the 1.7 cm one that she removed from a 60 year old man a few years ago who, by the way, is doing very well right now. Isn’t that good news? I take the record! I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, “There’s a silver lining behind every cloud.”

Our conversation with Dr. Nguyen was very candid. We really appreciate her professional and open manner as well as her willingness to take time with us—as much as we need. She never seems to be in a hurry to move on to the next patient. But the candidness of the conversation about the seriousness of my situation brought on kind of another dark layer of cloud which has been trying to cover up that silver lining. The reality is that we’ve had a few hard days this week. But we’re getting through it, depending more and more on God’s grace.

Also this past Wednesday I had a CT scan. You’ll notice that I quit referring to it as a CAT scan, although it’s the same thing, in deference to my cat loving friends. I now have a good supply of the book 101 Uses for Dead Cats to hand out to them, just to let them know where I stand. This reminds me about the story of my brother-in-law and his cats on the farm. I have been known to observe, on occasion, that cats have two purposes in life—to be eaten by dogs and get run over by cars. Well, it happened to him. His Great Dane ate one of the farm cats and on a later occasion he backed his truck over another. Can you imagine that? (If you’re a cat lover, I’m sorry. For you.)

Anyway, the CT scan went well I suppose. How far can you go wrong with sitting inside a whirling donut for a few minutes with this machine telling you when to breath in, when to hold your breath and then when to breathe out. I am so grateful that there wasn’t a power outage right at that moment, otherwise I’d still be laying on the table in some dark room in the Eagle Ridge Hospital holding my breath. Three days later. See? Another silver lining!

We’ll find out the results from the CT scan when we meet with the radiation oncologist, Dr. Bahl, at the BC Cancer Agency in Abbotsford next week, February 12^th. Maybe cancer that’s spread, but definitely no cats. For sure.

Here are some things that I’m thankful for right now (all are part of the silver lining behind the cloud):

• That I didn’t hear the conversation or see their faces when Dr. Granger spoke with Dr. Nguyen outside the operating room just before they carved me up on January 5^th. When the surgeon told her the melanoma she was about to remove was 2 cm thick she said, “You mean 2 millimeters.” “No. I mean 2 centimeters.” Ouch! One for the record book.
• That the melanoma she removed wasn’t bigger, because that would not have been better. Nope.
• For my friend Barry, who acknowledged that he didn’t have any profound words to say in his email but wanted to assure me of his care and concern, so he sent me some music. Sometimes, words aren’t needed or just aren't right. If you haven’t read the book 90% of Helping is Just Showing Up then you should. It’s insightful.
• For another friend, who after 14 years also still holds a lifetime membership in the Cancer Survivors’ Club and is willing to write (for the first time) about her own journey along a path almost identical to mine.
• For this new idea I had: I decided to forego New Year’s Resolutions this year and start something called New Leg Resolutions. After only five weeks of not being able to walk properly, I have resolved that once my leg gets better I will go for a long walk every day for the rest of my life. (I’m sure I’ll get over it in due time. The resolution, I mean.)
•  For the story in the Bible, in Daniel chapter 3, about Daniel’s three buddies, Shadrach, Meshach and Tobedyougo. (Didn’t your mother ever tell you that story at bedtime?) They articulated to the king exactly how I feel today, but in their own words, for their own situation. Like them, this is my conviction: The God whom I serve is able to heal me completely. But even if he doesn’t, I want to make it clear to you, my friends, that I will never stop serving him or enjoying his grace or lavishing in his love.

For these things I am thankful. Very thankful.

Selah