By Jana Cone
TIFTON — This is the last in a series of three articles about Tifton Gazette reporter Jana Cone’s battle with skin cancer.
TIFTON — I stand alone in front of the bathroom mirror. It is always that way and I am glad of it. Some things you just have to face alone and come to terms with.
It is time to take the bandage off my face. Twenty-four hours have passed since the Mohs surgery. I have to clean the wound twice a day and apply antibiotic cream. I can’t do that with the bandage on. But I am always anxious about what the bandage is hiding — and for good reason.
On at least two occasions like this in the past I almost fainted when I saw my face. The first time that happened was when I had Mohs surgery on my nose. The second time was when I had the surgery on my right cheek. Both of those surgeries were drastic.
In those instances the entire surface was “dismantled” and what remained was a crazy quilt of stitches. How many stitches? Far too many to count. I was mortified. I knew there was no way on God’s green earth what I was looking at would ever resemble my old face. I stood there looking in the mirror and crying for a long, long time. I knew nothing could change what had happened and I would just have to accept it, but how? It’s not that I am a vain person, I just wanted to be able to have my old, average-looking face back.
I learned about the amazing ability the body has to heal itself. It took time, a long time, but eventually my face returned to its normal average-looking self, although it sported a few zig zag scars for sure. I call them the marks of Zorro: One across my nose and one across my cheek. But good makeup can hide a lot of sins. That and some of Dr. Frank Pinto’s laser treatments.
I came to appreciate Pinto’s skill at reconstructive surgery and learned not to judge too quickly. I came to realize his cuts had not been made willy nilly, but were chosen because of how they would heal and fit into my face — following the natural lines of my face, making an indentation look like a cute little dimple; a long line, like a laugh line.
So now it was time to take the bandage off again. I peel it off slowly, not just because it hurts less that way, but because I can take this in a little at a time.
My assessment: Not bad. I’ve seen a whole lot worse. I think it will be okay. It will take about six months to a year, but it will get there.
There is one thing about having surgery on your face, you can’t hide it unless you want to wear a bag over your head. Since that never seems like a good option, I choose to stay in the house for a few days until it gets past the truly ugly stage. Once the swelling goes down and I get some of the blood off, it starts to look a little more acceptable.
In 12 days I will have another Mohs surgery on my face. I know going in that one is going to be a lot rougher than this one. I am worried that I might lose my tear ducts. I am worried that my bottom eye lid might be pulled down like what happened to my Dad when he had surgery in this same area. I am worried about a lot of things.
Not only is skin cancer painful and potentially disfiguring, it is also expensive. I could have bought a couple of new vehicles for the amount of money I have spent out of pocket on skin cancer surgery over the years.
So this is what happens to old South Florida beach bunnies. They end up in Dr. Pinto’s office having Mohs surgery.
If you want to go to the tanning beds or lie out on the beach getting that perfect tan, go right ahead. I’ll see you at Pinto’s office soon.
To contact reporter Jana Cone, call 382-4321, ext. 208.
