As we left off, I had biopsied on own right thumb with the concern for melanoma on a Friday after clinic.  Although it was in the back of my mind, I still was not overly concerned because my medical providers were not overly concerned.  As I started the work week on the following Monday, I continued to see patients and operate with a very sore right thumb!   I also continued to train for my triathlon, starting the week off on Monday with a hard Peloton indoor cycle at 5:45 am.

The Reveal:

Later in the week, it was a typical OR day for me.  I was up at 5:15 am and out the door for a 30 minute almost 3-mile run.  I got dressed, ate breakfast, and headed to one of the surgery centers where I operate frequently.  The first case started at 7:30 am.  By late morning, I had already performed 3 operations, and things were going smoothly with a very competent and jovial OR team.   After speaking with the family following the third procedure, I received a call from one of my pathologists, and I recognized his name because he was in the contact list on my phone.  I ducked into a private office and answered.   Then, with some trepidation in his voice, he said he was sorry and had some difficult news for me.  I had malignant melanoma, the acral type, which is an aggressive type of melanoma, often with a poor prognosis.  The histopathology revealed that the entire specimen I submitted from my own hand was tumor, and there were some bad features such as a high mitotic activity…my heart sunk, and I became numb.

I still had one operation to perform.  I had to check my emotions and be professional.  Surgeons like me have learned how to operate under duress and keep our emotions at bay, and we are almost robotic at times.  I trained back in the 1990s, when there were no restrictions on the hours for surgical residents.  During my internship year, I believe I spent every other night on call in the hospital for 9 or 10 months of that year.  During my second year, as a General Surgery resident, I was the “Trauma Dog” for two months on the Trauma Service, where I spent many sleepless hours leading the trauma team in the ED and taking care of victims of polytrauma who were brought in from all over the state on LifeFlight.  There were burn victims, patients involved in severe motor vehicle accidents, gunshot victims, and knife victims.   I watched countless victims die while I was trying to “crack the chest,” stop the bleeding, or rush them to the OR.   During those days, young surgeons learned to detach their emotions and focus on the task at hand.  So, without blinking an eye, I performed the next operation flawlessly and told the family how well it went.  So now what?

I really had no idea about what to do or where to go?  First, I called my wife Kellee and broke the news to her.  I continued to be basically almost numb, as if this were not really happening.  I told her that I would come straight home and we would go from there.   As a physician,  I am lucky to be able to call my colleagues directly, so I began the process of making medical appointments while driving home to see Kellee.    When I saw her, I broke down emotionally.  I knew that acral melanoma is the type with the worst prognosis and tends to be diagnosed late because it can live under a toenail or fingernail for a while and be misdiagnosed as other things, just like mine.   Considering the long-standing presence of my pigmented lesion, there was good reason to believe that I could easily have stage III or IV disease with an extremely poor prognosis.  I could not stop thinking about leaving this earthly world and leaving her behind.  How would she be emotionally?  How would she be financially? And then to the rest of our large extended families on both sides.  (You will here more about my family in the next blog.)

Just a few days later when journaling, it was very hard for me to recall the remainder of that day.  I do remember scheduling a haircut for the very next morning at 9:25 am.  My thought process was that I had no idea when I would be able to get back in the barber chair for a while.

The Haircut:

On the morning after I had received the results of my pathology, my barber, Dennis Redmon, welcomed me into his barber shop with a smile as always.  He is always smiling, and the whole team there likes to have a good time and laugh with the patrons.  I would always laugh and joke around with them; I hardly have any hair, but I just liked going in there!  One time, I was involved in a practical joke on one of the barbers.  Another time, they turned the music up loud, and I cut a rug with the mother of one of the barbers.  I was anxious, but just sat down in the chair and thought about what to say.  Should I tell him I had cancer?  Would I be emotional? 

Dennis has been always overtly Christian and shares his faith with everyone.  We often discuss matters of faith together, and he even hosts Bible Trivia on Wednesday nights in the shop.  As we were wrapping up, I shared my diagnosis with him.  I told him I was a right-handed surgeon who was about to undergo partial amputation of my right thumb, and that the situation might get much worse if the cancer had spread.

Let me tell you what he did.  He said, “Doc, I have a feeling that this cancer is localized.   I have a feeling (maybe the Holy Spirit) telling me that you are going to be OK.”  Then, he said, “Can I go out to your truck and pray with you?”  I said, “Sure!”  We walked out, and he jumped in the passenger side of my truck and put his hand my hand, the one with the cancer.  He prayed the sweetest prayer, asking God, the Great Physician, to put His healing hand upon me, and for me to accept His healing power.  He asked for the Holy Spirit to fill me with peace, strength, and comfort in the name of Jesus.   My eyes filled with tears, as I really needed that prayer! 

 More to come……less darkness and more light