I have moles. Lots of moles. So many moles that I look like a reverse constellation – white skin with dark spots. Some people call them beauty marks. Cindy Crawford sports the most famous mole in the world, except hers is called a “beauty mark” so she can remain a supermodel. If moles make one beautiful, I should be on the cover of GQ. (I’m still waiting for my call) My dermatologist jokes that I can keep my kids entertained for hours by letting them play connect-the-dots on my back.
He also says I make him nervous.
On top of my family history of skin cancer, the number and characteristics of my moles put me at higher risk for skin cancer, including malignant melanoma. I try to limit my sun exposure, which should help a bit, but the risk is already programmed into my skin regardless of sun exposure. Over time, some of my moles change in size, shape, and/or color, making them potentially precancerous.
To fight back, I visit the dermatologist twice a year, and each time he removes the two or three most suspicious moles. It’s a simple, quick procedure taking maybe 60 seconds each – anesthetic injection, removal by blade, electric cauterization. So far the lab hasn’t reported that any were actual skin cancer, but with some it was just a matter of time. After 15 years or so, I’ve had probably 40 or 50 removed. Mom nags me when necessary to schedule my next appointment.
The good news is that my moles have inspired me to compose a poem, my first in a very long time. I have entitled it, as you might have guessed, “Moly, Moly, Moly”.
Moly, Moly, Moly
Dang, my skin is moly
Like a white dalmatian, I
Have spots for all to seeMoly, Moly, Moly
Melanoma scares me
So I go back each
Six months for surgeryMoly, Moly, Moly
Which ones most displease thee?
Through the gift of Lidocaine
Thy cutting does not stingMoly, Moly, Moly
Still millions left upon me
Try to play connect-the-dots
And angry I will be.
Sorry for ruining a great hymn, but it had to be done. Someday you’ll be able to sing it normally again, I promise. =)