Mortality: Don’t Let It Catch You By Surprise

PHOTO — Before and after: On the left, the crusty thing. On the right: At the tail end of peeling.

I have an actinic keratoses. Trust me, it sounds way worse than it is. Simply put, it’s a crusty spot in the middle of my forehead where it meets the hairline that refused to go away. We tried to freeze it with nitrogen. It came back. We tried a prescription lotion. It laughed. So, the next step was a chemo cream compound treatment, twice a day for 7 days. I ended up with a raging sunburn on my forehead and now, nearly a month later and lots of peeling, it is all but gone. Fingers crossed.

An actinic keratoses is pre-cancerous with a quite low 5% chance a year to become skin cancer. I now wear a hat every time I take a walk in the hot Texas sun. The skin is the human body’s largest organ, so taking care of it is a must. Lesson learned.

But that crusty little pest on my noggin took on symbolic meaning. I’m 56. When the dermatologist said “pre-cancerous” to me, even though it was followed by that single digit possibility, mortality slapped me in the face. It was a Cher on Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck moment. “Snap out of it!”

It didn’t help that just as I started slathering my forehead with cold fire cream, mortality was dancing all around me. My wonderful husband Steve lost his grandfather, a sweet and gentle man who died at the age of 105. My lovely mother-in-law began treatments to readdress an ailment that had been dormant for a long while. And a dear, beautiful friend, one of our closest here in Texas, embarked on a bumpy ride to deal with a stage-four cancer diagnosis.

Both are fine, by the way. They are still enjoying life and we are delighting at having them close. But that mortality character, man. Can’t I just tell it to get out of here? Go on! Git!

Life isn’t that easy. Neither is death. That means that, for me, mortality’s unwelcomed visit has served as a wake-up call. Take nothing for granted. Live life to its fullest. Enjoy today because it’s all you have. Hug the ones you love. Tell them you love them every chance you get. How many times have we read those lines in greeting cards? They’re true.

It was during a particularly low moment, when mortality was just jitterbugging mere inches from me, that I had a few dark thoughts. I’m not the deep, dark thoughts type. But the human psyche can only handle one crisis at a time. I felt like I was dealing with four. There was one recent morning when the walls started to close in on me. I had a roughly sketched out plan. Then I cried. The tears cleansed my soul. I hit my rock bottom and I had the wherewithal to keep one hand on the rope so that I could pull myself back to the surface.

Here I am. I have a cherished home that I share with my husband, the love of my life for nearly 33 years. I have a great job that I enjoy. I have friends that make me smile. I have family that shields my back. I have a zest for life that no pesky, crusty, forehead thing can stifle.

All of us, every single one of us, need to allow ourselves the freedom to feel, to fret, and then to cry. It is that inner well that will eventually wash away the anguish and leave behind a clean slate to focus on happiness. We are human, which means mortality is going to pop in unannounced. Don’t let it catch you by surprise.