Little "c"

Herself does not spend a great deal of time on her appearance.  She doesn't fuss over her hair beyond making sure it's clean and brushed, and she doesn't wear makeup terribly often. She knows what she looks like:  a relatively plain, middle-aged woman.  Nevertheless, ever since a long-term acquaintance clumsily --and offensively, for its apparent focus on aesthetics, rather than health concerns -- mentioned a spot on the side of Herself's face, Herself has been self-conscious about it.  Whenever she looks in the mirror, that is all she can see.  She decided to see if the spot could be removed.

She had a visit with the dermatologist yesterday, and was told that though it could be a benign mole (as she'd always thought), it could actually be a basal cell carcinoma.

Cancer.

Alas.

As the assistant placed the bandage over the biopsy site, she explained that basal cell carcinoma is referred to as "the little c" rather than "the BIG C" of cancer.  She went on to state that basal cell carcinoma is very unlikely to metastasize, that the doctor is an expert in the particular procedure she'll need for facial skin cancer surgery, that he has the lab right there so they can check the margins before closing to ensure they've gotten it all, and that although they’re already booking into December for surgery, they will try to get her scheduled as soon as possible once they get the results of the biopsy.

Herself is alternately resigned, mildly alarmed, and just a hair bitter.  The surgery to remove the spot does not scare her - the sooner the better, to have it behind her. She's a little worried about all the other little blips and miscellaneous skin oddities of middle age: what do they MEAN?  What if there is something truly evil lurking, something (else) that she has assumed is an innocent mark?  When she gets the biopsy results next week, she'll ask about having all the little things looked at.  Nonchalance appears unwise with a likely cancer diagnosis already in the works.

She feels betrayed yet again by her body.  She thought that after ages of coping with her back and hip pain, and after the biopsy of her thyroid a couple of months ago (and leaving aside her slightly checkered health history prior to those), she'd have a bit of peace. But no. What is next? Is this how it shall be going forward - little issue after bigger issue after little issue?  How long will it be before  something Truly Ugly appears?  Something with a capital "c" perhaps?

What if some errant cells conspire together to rob her of her dreams?

Will she find the time to try to write her book?  Will she ever be able to reach, and enjoy, retirement? Will she ever have the satisfaction of being debt-free? Will she have a chance to travel a little?  And closer to home:  Will she survive long enough to see all of the Offspring launched into the world? Will she ever get to spend some quality time with Beloved Husband?  Will she have an opportunity to tell those close to her, how much they truly mean to her?

She will do what must needs be done, as always.  She cannot fret about what the future holds, for that will not change what will transpire.  We shall have to wait and see.

If I worry, will the future change?
What will happen, will happen, whether I am afraid or not.
 - Caine, Kung Fu