Donna Fielder

The warty looking mole was driving me crazy. It was fingernail sized and rough on top and just in the way of my underwear, so that it stayed irritated.

Finally, I had enough of it and showed it to my doctor, who is nice to me even though I only visit him when I have exhausted every other measure including those involving chicken feathers.

He frowned when he saw the warty mole and recommended a good dermatologist.

That skin specialist agreed that the warty mole needed to go, though she assured me it wasn’t malignant.

“How long have you had this?” she asked, pointing to a little black spot about three inches below the warty mole.

That little thing?

“I don’t know. I never noticed it before,” I said.

If I didn’t mind, she said, she’d take it off and biopsy it too.

A week later the telephone call came. The warty mole had been nothing but an irritation, I learned.

The black spot was a tiny baby melanoma.

It would kill me if I let it stay on my thigh.

And so began a swift reorganization of my priorities.

Sure, my investment portfolio had shrunk by a quarter.

Yes, I had abandoned my dreams of retiring early and living in that village in Scotland where dogs wait patiently outside shops on leashes attached to pegs thoughtfully built into buildings while their masters browsed the aisles.

National news of massive layoffs and more upsetting news of people being let go in my own newsroom moved down on my worry list. I updated my will.

I employed a mirror and searched every inch of my body for another black spot. Google search results show horrifying examples of the skin cancer melanoma, but the scary part is they don’t start out looking like that. They begin as small, irregular-shaped black, dark blue or multicolored dark spots that tend to hide amid all the other joys of growing old, like age spots, red dots and proliferating moles. A mole can become a melanoma.

If you haven’t checked out your blemishes lately, now is a good time. Do it.

I never was a sun worshipper. My skin was not fair and I only experimented briefly with tanning beds. What was I doing with a skin cancer? It didn’t matter. I had one.

The incision was shaped like an eye socket, about three inches long. The nurse wore pretty purple gloves. The doc and I chatted while she cut and cauterized (interesting to see smoke rise from your own flesh) and stitched me up with bright blue thread.

I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t need chemo or radiation. I do have a greater chance of having another one, so I’ll pay more attention to my skin.

This morning I awoke early and made a pot of coffee. I sat on my patio with Kiefer in my lap and listened to the background music of the Interstate nearby. My pansies, purple and white and lilac, smiled at me from a nearby planter.

I touched my incision, still in stitches. No pain. Amazing.

I watched tiny birds bringing twigs to my two birdhouses. I laughed at my resident squirrel as he wrapped his supple body around a bird feeder to steal the seed. I listened to the tinkling of my little fountain near the fence and the insistent call of a larger bird trying to attract a mate.

I spied the biggest weed I’ve ever seen in my back yard. I smiled. I didn’t have to struggle with it today. Doctor’s orders.

Keefer snuggled deeper into my lap as a slight breeze ruffled his ears. The coffee was delicious.

I know that my portfolio will never recover in time for me to retire early, if at all.

I know that politicians will keep on making promises they can’t keep and the media will relentlessly give me every speck of bad news they can find.

I know more people will lose their jobs.

I know that more brave men and women will die protecting democracy.

I know I won’t lose weight as long as I keep on eating barbecue sandwiches from Rooster’s.

But I will have more mornings on the patio watching the sun rise and listening to my new bird neighbors sing. I’ll have fragrant coffee and happy blossoms and Kiefer’s doggie kisses.

Life is good. I am so lucky. I am blessed.

DONNA FIELDER can be reached at 940-566-6885. Her e-mail address is dfielder@dentonrc.com .