Andrew and I went into the dermatologist Friday, November 20 to get the stitches out of his back. As a side note, I am NOT a patient person! Case in point: as a young girl, I taught myself to tie my shoes because my mom was too busy getting ready--I was too impatient to wait. Also, I taught myself to ride a bike because my dad wasn't getting it done on MY time frame. While I try to practice patience, it still continues to be a struggle. So after waiting in the waiting room for an hour, I was very tempted to just go home and take them out myself. Thank goodness this was one of those times where I had a little more patience than normal.
Dr. Mackey met us in the exam room and proceeded to tell us that more "abnormal" tissue was found below the "punch" he had taken out the week before. As Dr. Mackey explained that this is unusual, but that sometimes the "abnormal" tissue spreads out wider as it gets deeper. Both Andrew and I were shocked as Dr. Mackey suggested that rather than just taking out the stitches, that he would do what he did the previous week, make the same incision and take out more tissue, and then follow up with more stitches and another follow up appointment a week later. Both of us wanted to cry. Andrew did cry. I held it together to try to comfort him. This meant another painful shot to numb his back and then the discomfort of the stitches (which fortunately only lasted the first day). Of course we did it. In my mind, there wasn't any other option. I couldn't stand the thought of letting it go, knowing that it could turn into cancer down the road.
With much relief, the follow up appointment on Monday, November 30, was only filled with the removal of the stitches (which was quite uncomfortable for my little guy) and a bill of clean health. I'm pretty sure that Andrew understands why I made him go through this series of painful shots, but just in case he doesn't, and one day looks back at this post, this is what I would want him to know:
Dear Andrew,
Oh, how I love you! As your mom, I have literally given a part of myself to you and my heart breaks when I see you in pain. I want to cry along with you, but try to keep a brave face so I can encourage you to do the same. When the biopsy results first came back with a "slightly abnormal" result, my stomach sank. The nurse assured me that it wasn't cancerous, but as your mother, I wanted to do everything possible to make sure that your health remained untouched. So I agreed to submit you to some temporary pain and discomfort to ensure that future, much worse pain and discomfort could be avoided. Every time we are waiting in the exam room, you ask me about losing your hair. And while you have a TON of hair, I don't want you to lose a single strand due to the chemicals necessary to fight off cancer. And it's because I don't want you to lose your hair (least of all) and because I don't want you to be sick, and I don't want to see you in pain, and worst of all, I don't want to lose you, that I agreed to put you through more pain. I love you! You are growing up to be a very fine, trust worthy, responsible, helpful, loving and handsome young man.
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