My patience was wearing thin, so I made the call to my doctor. I was on hold for an awfully long time, which didn’t bug me one bit. I was this much closer to an answer.
Cheryl , the assistant, apologized for keeping me on hold. The hard copy results of my pathology had not arrived, so she went online to gather the information for me. It took her a little while to get into the system.
No cancer. No recurrent melanoma.
After dinner tonight, the girls and I went upstairs to do our evening routine. While they were brushing their teeth, I went to my room to change into my pajamas. I needed to pull the bandage off my punched and tender scar, but couldn’t free up the edges. I asked for Sophie’s help and she carefully pulled at a corner to get the thing off. She and Grace examined my back and said that it looked much better than yesterday. They aren’t monsters all the time.
While I was tucking them in, they wanted to talk about my scars. They asked how the doctor made the new boo boo.
Sophie asked if I was cut with a knife. I lied and said it was just a little scratch.
Grace wanted to know if the scratch hurt and I said, “No, I had a shot first.”
They wanted to know if the shot hurt. I reminded them that their mother is tough.
I am supposed to be proud of my scars.
My kids don’t mind them. My mom says I’ve earned them.
That might be true, but I may not ever be ready to wear a tank top to yoga and put my scars on parade.
I’m not that tough.