Every now and then the bouts of anxiety can be a good thing, like when it sends you straight to the dermatologist for a skin check.
I could have sworn that the freckle on my arm was growing and raised and after Googling images and crying my eyes out, I just made an appointment.
Turns out that wasn't the one I should have been worried about. The one on my leg was questionable, but turned out to be fine after they removed it (and the one that was bugging me on my arm).
The exam was free. The removals were $100. The peace of mind was priceless.
I'm thankful for folks like Heather and Megan, who both openly shared their experiences with skin cancer on their blogs. There's my dear college friend Kara, who had skin cancer and then fought it again another two times.
And then Dawn.
I don't really have any words.
We can all agree that cancer's an asshole. A big fucking asshole.
But when it comes to skin cancer, you can actually beat much of it to the punch, which I admit to not being as vigilant as I should be. The kids get slathered up in sunscreen and I just spray and go, doing my best to barely smudge it on my face and shoulders.
Remember the oxygen mask analogy? It applies here to.
Heather is donating a dollar to March of Dimes and Melanoma Research Foundation for each comment left on her post through Wednesday. Please go and show your support.