Coping

Although I do feel as if somebody removed my head, squished it around a little and then stuck it back on wrongways, I'm doing pretty well after my surgery October 1. And, although I don't have a report from the pathologist yet, it appears that -- yet again -- we caught the melanoma early enough, before it decided to wander.

The interesting thing about having such surgery under local anaesthetic (aside from how it feels as the anaesthesia wears off mid-procedure) is that you get to experience just exactly how brutal it is. Not to imply that my doctor was unnecessarily rough. In fact, he's excellent and I'm very lucky to have him. No. It's just that, well... Here's what he did.

He scissored out a circle about 1 1/2 inches in diameter from the top center of my head. Initially, he didn't think there would be enough flesh left to close the wound, so we'd just let it heal, slowly. But during surgery he decided that he could do it. So next he elongated the wound by creating new incisions with a scalpel, one leading from the hole towards my forehead, the other to the back of my head.

Then -- and this is the fun part -- he used clamps or forceps or something to pull my remaining scalp away from my skull and stretch it for a few minutes. Seemed like an eternity. Then he skillfully pulled it all together with a series of subcutaneous and surface stitches. I can count nine cute blue stitches on the resulting 6-inch incision.

All the while, he was cauterzing blood vessels and carrying on amusing banter with me. Well, mostly laughing at me. Probably kindly. I told him I hadn't seen "Head Shrinker" on his business card, for instance. And asked if he were embroidering his initials into my scalp. He said he'd decided not to.

I'd probably be feeling far better by now if I had been able to stay in Anchorage for more than just the night. As it was, I had to check out of the hotel at 1 p.m., wait for a 6:30 p.m. flight back to Fairbanks, which lasted 45 minutes, and then endure a beyond-belief bumpy ride home which lasted another 45 minutes.

All in all, I do know how lucky I am. But pain makes the best of us ungrateful at times, and so does sleeping sitting up in a recliner.

Still, day by day, I'm a bit stronger, and Wednesday some of the stitches will come out, which should relieve a little of the pressure on my head. Which might make it pop. I'm not sure.

I'm having a much harder time coping with the fact that, also on Wednesday, G. will be having a very scary-looking mole removed from his forehead. It has all the classic signs of melanoma, unlike mine: Grew very quickly (less than four months). Bigger than the diameter of a pencil eraser. Multi-colored: dark brown and blue. Scaly. The only thing it missed is having an irregular border and being assymetrical.

So, my friends, please keep us in your thoughts. It seems like a twisted joke that he might now have to go through what I've just been through. And that I've been so self-absorbed I didn't notice what was in front of my own eyes -- right there on his forehead -- a lot earlier.

I'd been planning a long-deferred trip South for mid-October. I haven't seen some of my friends and family for seven years or more, and my 25th college reunion is here. (Aack.) Everything now hinges on what happens Wednesday.