I know it’s been years since I updated this blog. Mama’s been in remission for about 6 years now. There are stories in the cancer treatment journey and after my blog readers missed. I don’t have the energy to back fill those at this time. Why so long without an update? Time kept ticking on, the world kept spinning, life kept happening, all the usual cliche reasons. And this blog post is unfortunately an update about another cliche: Cancer punched my ticket. I’m not just the fighter’s daughter anymore.
I lived one of my greatest fears and worst nightmares on a Thursday morning in May. May 15th, 2025 to be exact. Some are going to say “its not that bad” or “there are worst things that can happen” and that’s true but I prayed so hard and tried everything I could to not end up here. Life and cancer keep refusing to cut me any breaks. 52 days shy of my 30th birthday I had basil cell carcinoma removed off the tip of my nose. No chemo. No radiation. No fixes available that don’t require mutilation. A centimeter circle had to be cut out of the tip of my nose. There’s no way to hide that scar.
I wear sunscreen religiously. I wear hats and full coverage shirts and pants when I’m out in the sun. I did everything I could to avoid ending up like this, yet here I am. A 5 stitch line across the tip of my nose; Cancer’s brand smack dab in the center of my face. No way to hide or minimize cancers mark this time.
Cancer has had a hold on me my whole life by afflicting those I love most. The reason this was one of my nightmares is because of my Daddy. My whole childhood I watched him get site after site biopsied, diagnosed, and removed. I learned how to apply a pressure bandage, stitch, and remove stitches on Daddy before I got a drivers permit. I witnessed the pain and suffering that is defined as skin cancer treatment first hand as the survivors daughter. I didn’t want to join that club. I didn’t want to be on that table.
So at 9am on a Thursday morning in May a dermatology nurse who had never met me before got to witness me mentally and emotionally fall apart as she strapped me to that table. I could not hold back my grief for the wasted effort and hope I’d spent almost 30 years having. For almost 30 years I believed I might just miss that genetic bullet. For almost 30 years I believed God might have a sense of humor and let me off the hook. I cried because I was not getting away with my cancer scars not being where people can see them every time they look at me. I cried because I was now another statistic.
I apologize to my friends and family for retreating into myself while trying to process the diagnosis and cope with what it means for me. I was scared and trying not to show the world that. I guess having been the caregiver so long I don’t know how to be the patient. I was trying not to share my burden. But I can’t hide the burden when it’s permanently written across my face for the world to see.
I can’t explain the pain. It’s not just physical. I can’t describe the loss I feel. I can’t find the words and I no longer have the two people I would ask to find the words for me. I was diagnosed before May 15th, 2025 but for me it became real when I couldn’t deny it and there was a centimeter hole in the center of my face. On May 15th, 2025 I became the fighter. On May 15th, 2025 I was no longer just the survivor’s daughter.
