It's raining in Boston. The past few days have been chilly, wet, and downright dreary. The perfect weather to curl up in bed and watch a Jane Austin movie, or trash TV, depending on your mood. (In an ideal world...)
Recently I was flipping through my Dr. Oz pregnancy book (YOU: Having a Baby), when I stumbled upon an irksome little blurb about melanoma developing quickly and inexplicably in pregnant women. (Just the thing a hypochondriac with an overactive brain needs to read!)
The thing was, I did have a mole on my tummy that had been feeling itchy and slightly sore. The little bastard was even changing color and the borders were becoming irregular. The Debbie Downer in my head didn't like the looks of it. "Probably deadly melanoma," she said, shaking her head. (I'm blowing a giant raspberry right now, can you hear it?)
Today I went over to MGH to see my dermatologist, hoping she'd congratulate me on being pregnant, peek at the mole and send me on my way. Instead, she said the words I simply didn't want to hear, especially on this rainy Tuesday:
"I think we should just take it off."
As in, right then and there. Pooey. I was still sopping wet from the rain. I was in no condition to be cut!
"Do I have time to run to the ladies room?" I asked the nurse, who told me the doctor would literally be back in just a minute.
"Yes, but I'm pregnant- I pee like every five seconds."
"Oh, you are? I need to get a different anesthetic, then."
Yikes. She assured me she'd be using lidocaine without epinephrine to numb the spot, which wouldn't affect the baby. Still, it was right on my belly. (My belly!) I prayed my sweet little bambino wouldn't be hurt by this, but there really wasn't much of a choice. The doctor put things into perspective by reminding me that having a mama with melanoma was far worse than any risk.
"Not that I think you have melanoma!" she was quick to add. (Sure, the Debbie Downer voice said. Sure ya don't.)
This scar is sure to stretch, my doc warned, seeing as my waistline is expanding even as I type. But I peeked at the stitches when she was finished and they didn't look too bad. Science project-y, sure, but nothing I can't handle.
Before I knew it, I was back outside in the pouring rain. My feet were wet inside my shoes. I was carrying one of those obnoxious golf umbrellas, but it wasn't making much of a difference. I wanted to be warm. I wanted to be dry. I wanted...my mommy. I would have to settle for the next best thing: the spaghetti and meatballs she sent me home with on Sunday night. Yum.
And can I just say, thank God for auntie Kim's homemade black moons. She refuses to give out her recipe, but luckily she doesn't refuse to bake them and share.
And so, with a full and stitched up tummy, I'm heading to my warmie bed. What a day! I hope you're dry and warm, Dear Reader. Good night. xoxo
