Glamour Magazine Saved My Life (Well, Sort Of)

It was just a small blemish in the middle of my forehead.

At least, that’s what I thought at first. In fact, I hardly noticed it at all. A week went by, then a month, and it was still there. Just a seemingly innocuous pink mark, mostly hidden by my bangs.

I probably wouldn’t have paid it much attention if it hadn’t been for the issue of Glamour Magazine someone left in the break room at work; I grabbed it on my way out of the office one day, having finished my book that morning on the train. Halfway between Philadelphia and my apartment I came across an article about skin cancer, and one of the graphics looked sort of, kind of, a little bit, pretty much exactly familiar.

“Look at my forehead,” I asked, nay, demanded of Scott as he sat in bed reading later that night. He, of course, obliged. “Does this mark on my forehead look like that mark in the magazine article?”

“Maybe,” he said, always rational. “But I’m not a dermatologist. Wait a little while, see if it goes away and if it doesn’t, make an appointment.”

So I waited. And while I waited, I of course Googled. Have you ever Googled skin cancer? Don’t do it. Seriously…don’t. Dr. Google will only show you pictures of Worst Case Scenarios. You Google basal cell carcinoma, Dr. Google will show you the scariest basal cell carcinoma around. If you just opened a new tab to Google skin cancer, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

With my newfound expertise in all things cancer, I went to my dermatology appointment (three months after noticing what I now think of as The Scary Blemish). The nurse entered the examination room, pulled out her clipboard, and had barely asked, “So why are you here toda…” when I blurted out something along the lines of, “soInoticedthismarkonmyforeheadafewmonthsagoandthenIreadaboutsignsofcancerinGlamourMagazineandIthoughtitshouldbecheckedout.Oh,andIthinkitcouldbebasalcellcarcinoma.”

Then I took a deep, shaky breath.

She moved me to a different examination room (probably the one where the put the people who are type-A spazzes convinced they have cancer, the room with calming blue walls and sedatives in the water), where the doctor removed The Scary Blemish to send it for testing. Diagnosis: it’s either keratosis (don’t ask Dr. Google for images of that either) or, as I suspected, basal cell carcinoma. Either way, he said he wasn’t worried about it, and I shouldn’t be worried either.

But there’s the rub. While I know from what I read and what he told me that a basal cell carcinoma is not anything compared to a malignant melanoma, it’s still really frightening to think that at 29 I may have some form – any form – of cancer. I know that with this type of cancer, removal is pretty much the entire battle, but still, it’s cancer, and the kind of cancer I've worked my entire adult life to avoid. I’m almost obsessive about sunscreen use and skin care. I keep a bottle of sunscreen in my desk at work, another in my purse, and have at least five at home, plus any makeup I use has SPF 15 or higher. I try to minimize outdoor activity between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., when the sun is at its brightest. I’ve never even so much as set foot in a tanning salon, let alone used a tanning bed because I’m fully aware of the potential consequences. And for the past 6 years, I have had some form of swoopy bang covering my forehead (that was more of a "look" than a preventative measure, but hey, it seems like some protection). I thought I’d done good when it came to protecting myself.  But here I am, waiting to see what that Scary Pink Blemish is.  And if it is a basal cell carcinoma, does that mean no matter what precautions I take going forward I will find more Scary Pink Blemishes in the future?

It’s a long, rambly thought process, and I know there are logical and illogical facets to what’s running through my head at 15 squillion MPH right now. But to suspect and not know (especially for a type-A like me who Needs to Know Everything, Always) that’s the scariest part of all.

I have a follow-up in early October, which I expect is when I’ll find out what it was: keratosis or carcinoma.

Until then, I’m upping my SPF and keeping away from Google.

And I'm starting a subscription to Glamour. Because, hey, even if it didn’t literally save my life it broadened my awareness. I’m also betting it will have some really fun fall fashion tips.