Mommy Worry vs. Mommy Guilt

I was diagnosed with skin cancer in 2007. We caught it early, got it out quickly. It should have been a non-event, a blip on the radar screen of my otherwise pretty kick-ass life. But the ripple effects of that non-event have been far reaching. We are still paying off the medical bills and will be for another year at least. I have had more than 20 spots removed in the last three years, each of them leaving behind a lovely scar, tiny circular reminders that what happened in 2007 didn't stay in 2007.

I have also subsequently developed a deep distrust and borderline hatred for all moles.

When baby girl was about a week old, I started noticing a freckle forming on her wrist. It is the only "blemish" on her skin. And I hate it. I stare at it and hate it, wondering if it is cancerous, or pre-cancerous, wondering if it is going to do to her one day what my mole did to me.

As I watched that freckle darken, I convinced myself it was growing and changing, so we took her to a pediatric dermatologist when she was six months old. The doctor said it didn't look like anything to worry about, took a bunch of measurements, and then we agreed to come back in three months to see if anything had changed. Well, the time is almost here, and the more I look at that freckle, that mole, that spot on my baby's wrist, the more I just want it gone. I imagine the edges are scalloping, and at this point I don't even know how much of what I see is reality and how much is just fueled by my own fear and hatred of it. I want it gone. I don't want to have to worry about it anymore. I don't want to have to imagine evil cells growing on, sinking into my daughter's body.

Then I think about the implications of removing it. I think about us having to wrap her in a sheet tightly so that they can give her a shot to numb the area. I see in my mind's eye her screams when she realizes she's being held down. I imagine her looking at me with confusion, an accusatory look of betrayal and pleading. I think about the pain I will be causing her. Those shots hurt like a motherfucker . . . I know . . . I've had over 20 of those shots in the last 3 years. I think about her cries when she just gets her normal vaccination shots, and I know this shot is going to hurt her ten times worse. And then I think about the little stitch she'll have to have, and the scar that will remain there forever, a permanent mark on her otherwise flawless body. A mark that would be a forever reminder of my own fear, my own hatred of a mole that may or may not be anything at all. I think about all the scars on my body now . . . and I don't want to do that to her. So then I change my mind about removing it and think we'll just keep waiting and measuring and monitoring.

And then I think about the ramifications if I'm wrong.

What a shitty, shitty choice to have to make. On the one side, my mommy worry knotting my stomach, making it hard to breathe. On the other side, my mommy guilt over letting my own fear, my own issues create physical pain and permanent scarring for my sweet, innocent daughter.

What a shitty, shitty choice.

Still my life rocks from the ripples of 2007.