National Teacher Day for an Ex-Teacher

IMG-7873I had big dreams. After graduating from Indiana University with a degree in Journalism and already a decently impressive resume at the age of 25, I was well on my way to achieving those dreams. The dreams were ESPN The Magazine or Sports Illustrated.

But when I received a job offer for a sports writing position at The Macon Telegraph, a newspaper I’d interned at a few years prior, I turned it down. I decided to stay in LaGrange, Georgia, working for The LaGrange Daily News, a small newspaper that certainly wouldn’t propel me to sports writing stardom.

Then my dreams began to change.

In October of 2005, I had to write the most difficult sports stories I’d ever written. Dazman Anderson, the quarterback of one of the high school teams I covered, was was fatally shot in the back. I interviewed students and staff for dozens of stories throughout the aftermath of Dazman’s death. They were heartbroken. I was heartbroken. I began to learn more and more about the teenage population in Troup County, Georgia, and the issues they faced.

I wanted to be part of the solution.

So one afternoon after interviewing a coach after baseball practice, I sat with him on a picnic table and our conversation turned towards me.

“Natalie, you’re so good with these kids,” he said.

I thanked him, and said I loved covering high school sports, and I loved the kids in Troup County. That’s why I didn’t take the job in Macon.

“No, it’s more than that,” he said. “You really care about these kids. You’d make an outstanding teacher.”

IMG-7877Between the coach’s words, and a stirring from the Holy Spirit, it didn’t take long for me to agree to change my career path. I would be a high school English teacher. This was an especially easy path in Georgia, given their extreme shortage of teachers.

I was accepted into the Master of Arts in Teaching program at LaGrange College, had an informal interview with the principal of Troup County Comprehensive High School, and within a few months I was teaching high school English.

My journey through the world as an English teacher could be a book, even though my stint as a teacher was short-lived. Two years in Georgia, three and a half years in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and one year in Uganda, and I was done with teaching.

Aside from teaching, I’ve been a Crime Beat Reporter. A Sports Reporter. A Marketing Assistant, a Customer Compliance Administrator, a Communications Coordinator, and currently, a Director of Marketing and Donor Engagement. Not to mention years of being a waitress and working at Dairy Queen through college.

No, I haven’t done it all. But I know enough to know this- teachers work hard. I even feel comfortable saying they work harder than most, if not all, of the rest of us.

IMG-7876Teaching is hard. The hours are awful because they never actually end. The hour of “planning” teachers get each day is usually filled with professional development or other meetings. Teachers spend hours and hours on nights and weekends grading papers and planning for what’s next. They hunt down parents who need to know their child is struggling. They send home notes of praise when a child is performing well.

Teachers not only teach, but they counsel. Children don’t leave their issues from home at the classroom door, they bring them into the classroom with them, and sometimes their teacher is the only one who says, “I’m here for you.”

My job description said I was to teach literature, composition, and grammar. But it was so, so much more than that.

I had a student whose mother had been murdered. By her father.

I had a student dealing drugs so mom could pay the rent.

I had a student who wanted more than anything to get pregnant so she would feel loved by someone.

I had a student who wanted to go to jail so he would have some structure in his life.

I had many students whose parents told them they were worthless.

I had a student whose twin brother committed suicide.

I had dozens of female students who had abortions because their mothers insisted on it. Multiple abortions.

I had a student who was shot over Christmas break, survived, but knew those same people were still after him.

I had a student hauled away from school in handcuffs and placed in the back of a squad car. I never saw him again.

I had female students who cut themselves.

I had male students who told me they wanted to die.

And my job, and the job of my co-workers, was to teach them. English. History. Math. Art. Music. Science. Everything those kids carry into the classroom, and it’s the teacher’s job to get them to focus on education.

But more than that, the job is to get them to pass a test.

IMG-7874When I taught in Georgia, my school took a, “We can do this, and we’re in it together” approach to standardized testing. But when I taught in Indiana, it was more of a, “Your students better pass or you’re in trouble.”

Still, I loved teaching. It was incredibly fulfilling. I loved my students, and, for the most part, my students loved me.

So why did I leave teaching mid-year in 2011? It wasn’t the students. It was politics. Administration. Not being able to teach how I best know how. Standardized testing. The list goes on and on.

As education continues to get worse and teachers keep losing battles with administrations who don’t support them, schools will lose good teachers.

I was a good teacher. Maybe I wasn’t a great English teacher, but I was a good teacher. I know this because I still hear from former students, both from Georgia and Indiana who say, “Miss Trout, you believed in me when no one else did. Thank you.”

I hear from students who just got out of jail who say, “I’m going to start living right, Miss Trout,” because they want to make me proud.

Just today a former student gave me a shout out on Facebook saying, “I appreciate Miss Trout for teaching me in 9th grade and always keeping me positive.”

10372329_10152113701606573_5822805670897977551_nAnd that makes it all worth it. All I ever wanted was to make an impact on some students, and I did.

Don’t forget that each teacher in your child’s life also wants to make an impact. No one goes into teaching for the money or the prestige. Teaching has neither of those. People go into teaching because they care.

I’ve never worked as hard as I did when I was a teacher. So, today, I’d like to thank all of the teachers in my life. The ones who taught me. The ones I taught with. The ones I taught who will one day teach others. Happy National Teacher Day from an ex-teacher who will forever admire the work you continue to do.

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Two years at one job. For me, that’s huge. And that’s OK.

10389726_10152082108416573_5815621699821138411_n
Natalie the teacher.

Newspaper reporter.
English teacher. (at four different high schools)
Marketing Assistant.
Customer Compliance Administrator. (I still don’t know what that is)
Communications Coordinator.
Director of Marketing & Donor Engagement.

You’d have to be crazy to look at my resume and not see a lot of perceived red flags. Some might argue that I’m a risky hire. I’m only 37, and I’ve already had three different careers. I haven’t worked at one location for more than two years since I graduated from Indiana University in 2004.

Until today. Today I have worked for two years at The Rescue Mission, a homeless ministry in Fort Wayne, Ind., and for the first time ever, I hope there are many years to come. I work at a job that I absolutely love. I love the people I work with. I love what I do each day. I love the people we serve. I’ve attained something few people in this world have: job satisfaction.

So was my job-hopping and searching for the right fit for me worth it? Absolutely.

There were certainly some rash decisions in there. For example, I was so determined to get out of teaching in 2012 that I accepted a job that paid almost half the annual salary I was making as a teacher. My debt skyrocketed that year. But I believe all of those crazy decisions led me to where I am now.

24131365_10154864673246573_7216643921817659447_n
Natalie the Director of Marketing & Donor Engagement.

My career is important to me. It’s been more important than starting a family. Would I rather have my own family right now, or a job that I love? I can say with certainty, a job I love. Granted, now that I have that piece in my life, I would love to have my own little family, but finding job satisfaction was apparently something I needed to attain first.

I would probably never tell a young person that job-hopping is a good idea, but if you can sit in an interview and explain each hop in a way that makes sense, you can certainly get somewhere. Clearly it never stopped anyone from hiring me. And because I never gave up on finding a career and employer that I love, I wake up every day happy to go to work.

Your career moves are your own. You can get a lot of great advice from other people, but it is ultimately your decision. Some decisions deemed “career suicide” are not always as bad as they seem.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the part my faith has played in all of this. God has always made it clear to me that what I do with my career should be honoring to Him. He also gave me the patience and perseverance over the years to not give up on finding work I love.

Today I celebrate two years at The Rescue Mission. It hasn’t been perfect. There have been days when I’ve cried in the bathroom. There have been times I’ve had to leave and go to Starbucks just to get away from someone who was irritating me. There have even been days I’ve hopped on Indeed.com.

But I haven’t touched my resume. It still reads that my most recent job was the one I was at two years before The Rescue Mission. And I don’t plan on updating it anytime soon.

Two years. For me, that’s huge. And that’s OK. I’ll never regret my journey to finding a job that I love and the fact that I never gave up on finding it.

Babies. Hummus. I’ll pass.

hummus-812675_1920I don’t like hummus. The texture. The taste. I just don’t like it.

I knew after the first time that I tasted hummus that I didn’t like it. But, everyone around me loved hummus. Let’s face it, nearly everyone on the planet loves hummus. So literally every opportunity I had, I tried hummus. Different brands, different flavors. I hated it every single time.

It took me awhile to give it up and finally admit it. I hate hummus.

And that’s OK.

Hummus isn’t for everyone.

And neither are children.

I once went with some friends from work to an event just for women. A lot of it was about women empowerment. In the venue there was a big wall where women were encouraged to write down the best thing about being a woman. A woman in our group said with enthusiasm, “Duh, we get to have BABIES!”

I felt like crap. I don’t have babies. I don’t even have A baby. I’m 37 and time is running out! But then I realized, I don’t even want to birth children. I’ve NEVER wanted to birth children.

Why was I letting someone’s comment make me feel bad about something I didn’t even want? Why did I keep trying hummus when I knew I hated it?

Simple. I felt like I was missing out on something. I was missing out on this delightful, healthy treat called hummus. I was missing out on babies, even though I have never wanted one.

Sure I had baby dolls when I was a little girl, but I was much more into Barbies. My Barbies traveled the world and had fun jobs. And my mom will tell you, the words, “I can’t wait to have children,” have NEVER come out of my mouth.

A few months at a wedding there was this precious little boy in front of us who kept turning around and smiling. A co-worker next to me said, “Aww! Look at that little…” and she stopped mid-sentence. “Oh I forgot, you hate kids!”

Nope. Not even remotely true. While yes, I’m horrified of holding a newborn, there is not a single bone in my body that has any sort of hatred of children. As a matter of fact, I would love to marry someone who already has children, or to adopt someday. I simply have zero desire to birth children.

IMG-2722There are some people in my life who refuse to accept that. They say I will change my mind. They say I’m missing out. I wonder if they’d say those same things to a woman who physically CAN’T have children. Let’s hope not.

I also have a few married friends who have decided not to have biological children. They might adopt one day, or even welcome foster children into their homes. The backlash from some of their friends and family for not having biological children is heartbreaking.

Please, stop with the “be fruitful and multiply” verses from the Old Testament. Each of those scriptures refer to animals and the Israelites, and were also in specific cases to fill up the earth after creation and after the flood.

IMG_9361 (2)And if people are so concerned with their interpretation of “be fruitful and multiply,” what about all the verses about taking care of orphans? DIRECT words from Jesus Christ Himself!

 

I realize I am in a minority group of women who don’t want to birth their own children.

I realize I am in a minority group of people who hate hummus.

And that’s OK.

There’s nothing wrong with having babies or liking hummus, but there’s also nothing wrong with NOT having babies or liking hummus.

So… what’s your hummus? What is it that is making you feel like a failure or a crappy human being because you don’t like it or want it?

Maybe it’s that you don’t dream of having babies.

Maybe it’s that your children don’t play sports.

Maybe it’s that you don’t travel the world.

Maybe it’s that you don’t make your family eat gluten-free.

Stop letting people make you feel bad for things you don’t even like, or things you don’t even want. You do you, and no one else. You are the only one who has to live your life. Don’t try to fit into the mold that other people want you to fit into.

I don’t like hummus. I’m going to stop trying hummus, even though people keep wanting me to try new flavors and brands.

And I’m going to stop allowing myself to feel bad about not waning to having biological children, even when people flat out tell me, “Yes you do.” Because, you know, they apparently know me better than I know myself.

God didn’t design us to all be the same. And although people may have a problem with it, I don’t want biological children, and I hate hummus.

“She is clothed in strength and dignity.
And she laughs without fear of the future.”
Proverbs 31:25

An open letter to Carrie Underwood

Dear Carrie,

IMG-4494I’ve never felt like I was beautiful. So when I had melanoma removed from my face last last year, it was kind of difficult to take in. Here I was, who I consider to be an average-looking woman, who would now have a big scar on her face.

Through the support of my family and friends, I knew I couldn’t let it bother me. I didn’t have a choice. The surgeon even told me right before I went back for surgery that there are so many nerves in the face that there was a chance the right side of my face would be paralyzed. He also said my smile might not ever be the same.

“But, we don’t have a choice,” he said. “You have melanoma, and it could kill you if we don’t get it removed.”

I refused to be ashamed of the scar on my right cheek. I knew I was more than what people see on the outside.

When I read about your fall and all the stitches on your face, my heart broke for you. While I had around 20 stitches, you had more than 40. I can’t imagine what it’s like having your beautiful, flawless face cut up like that.

But a part of me was encouraged. I had something in common with you- a scarred face. And I had no doubt that you would still be beautiful.

After the first of the year, I read that you posted your first picture of yourself since the accident. I was eager to see you, confident as ever, displaying your wounds for the world to see. But instead I only saw your eyes peering out behind a scarf and a hat.

It’s difficult to put into words, but it made me feel… ashamed. I was never afraid to post pictures of my wound or my scar. If you are hiding your scars, should I be doing the same?

If you are too ashamed to share your face with the world after it’s been cut up, should I also be ashamed?

Should I not be sharing my journey of healing with people who follow me on Instagram and Facebook, or those who read my blog?

IMG-4824However, I also realize you’re facing something I can’t even begin to imagine. While hundreds of people see my photos, millions of people see yours. But Carrie, I’m here to tell you that there’s more to you than how you look.

I read another blog post recently about how it’s not your job to be inspirational. I have to disagree. Carrie, you are a positive role model for millions of girls and women. You are a celebrity and a public figure. Whether or not you want to be an inspiration to the public and your fans, you ARE.

I pray you find the courage to show the world that gorgeous face of yours. You have an opportunity to empower many women who have been through similar experiences and need to hear you say, “Here are my scars. I am not ashamed.”

Show people like me, who do not hide their scars, that we have nothing to be ashamed of.

“When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be – this is me.
Look out cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies – this is me.”
– “This is Me”, The Greatest Showman Soundtrack

My 2017: Cancer, Confidence, and a Cat

26113828_10154926156416573_1909445423053074190_nThere are three things that sum up my 2017: cancer, confidence, and a cat.

I can only imagine what I would have said if someone told me a year ago that in 2017 I’d be diagnosed with melanoma on my face, have plastic surgery to remove it, end up feeling more confident afterwards, and that I’d get a cat. There was just no way I saw any of this coming.

The big story of my 2017 was supposed to be that I bought a house. But no, God had other stories that headlined my life in 2017.

Cancer
Even though I’d gotten the phone call, even though I’d had the surgery to remove melanoma from my face, and even though I’d met with an oncologist, it wasn’t until a few months later that it actually “clicked” that I had cancer.

IMG-0076I was at an unrelated doctor appointment when the nurse said to me, “I see here that you had cancer,” she said in passing as she reviewed my medical history. Oh, I thought to myself, I guess I did. 

Cancer doesn’t look the same for everyone and every type. Mine was in the form of melanoma, and lucky for me, it only required a single surgery.

So, yes, I had cancer in 2017. Certainly not something I expected, but certainly a headlining story in my life this year.

Confidence
I’ll be honest. For a period of time before my surgery, I was really worried about what I would look like afterwards. I had a major pity party for myself that went something like this:

I am so screwed. I’m already apparently not pretty enough for someone to want to marry me. I’m going to have this giant scar on my face. NOW who is going to want to be with me?!

Before you tear me to shreds, know that those thoughts didn’t last. God intervened and reminded me that He wouldn’t let a silly scar keep me from finding someone to spend my life with. He also gave me peace and confidence to go through everything with my head held high.

It seems backwards, but I almost have MORE confidence with the scar on my face. I often forget it’s even there. It keeps healing and will continue to heal. I’m fine with it being there. Somehow God has used it to make me even more confident. I’m not sure how, but it’s not the first time He’s done something I don’t understand.

Cat
When my friend got a job at the SPCA, I avoided the place at all costs. I knew that if I visited, I’d come home with a pet. Then, one June afternoon, she talked me into a visit.

That’s when I saw a handsome grey cat who stole my heart.

A few days later, I returned. And I went home with a cat.

IMG-2998I never knew an animal could have such a huge impact on my mental health. Mr. Glitter Sparkles has changed so much for me. He’s given me a buddy and a reason to smile when I come home to an empty house.

I am beyond grateful for my amazing cat, Mr. Glitter Sparkles. I can’t imagine going through melanoma, heartbreak, and other bad days without him.

Cancer? Check.
Confidence? Check.
Cat? Check.

I’d love to speculate what I’ll be writing about a year from now, but only God knows. Maybe life will be better, maybe it will be worse. But as always, my faith in God will get me through whatever lies ahead.

Well… that and Mr. Glitter Sparkles.

I will not apologize…

IMG_2961On Sunday I turned 37. There’s lots I could write about.

I could write about how 36 was spectacular. I could write about how 36 was awful.

I could write about how 36 saw love, heartbreak, melanoma, surgeries, a cat, Las Vegas, new friendships, broken friendships, moments closer to God, a few times of anger with God, the passing of my final grandparent… the list goes on and on.

But instead, I’ve decided to write about things, now that I am 37, that I will not apologize for. That sounds harsh, but it’s not meant to be. For my birthday, a good friend from work got me Brene Brown’s book, “Braving the Wilderness- The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone,” and after just the first chapter I’m already inspired to be myself more and stop trying to please everyone.

Basically, I won’t apologize for being me. This is how God made me, and as a newly 37-year-old, I will not apologize for, or feel bad about, the following:

Proclaiming that I follow Jesus
Sometimes, I do want to apologize for being a Christian. We don’t exactly have the best reputation these days (I’m sure Jesus is thrilled about that), and many Christians are on more of a crusade to preserve their rights than they are to actually lead people to the Lord. But I will never, ever apologize for loving Jesus and talking about it. He is my hope. My strength. All I need.

Drinking Starbucks (especially PSLs)
It’s amazing how society has taken a drink, the pumpkin spice latte, and created a stereotype around the people who drink it. It’s a drink. It’s a coffee shop. It says literally nothing about who I am as a person. I love Starbucks coffee, and pretty much everything else they have to offer. I will not apologize for my taste in coffee.

IMG_1925Being a “cat lady”
I’ve wanted a cat for years. However, I never went through with it because I didn’t want to be that single girl in her 30’s with a cat. As I grew to care less and less what people think, in July I decided to get a cat. Mr. Glitter Sparkles might make me a cat lady, but that little ball of fur brings so much joy to my life! As someone who has struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember, getting a pet was one of the best choices I have ever made for my mental health.

Dating outside my race
I’ve dated white guys. Black guys. Hispanic. Korean. Ugandan. If I’m interested, he loves the Lord, and we have chemistry, I don’t see why I wouldn’t date outside my race. For years I kept this hidden, or at least didn’t announce it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, so I will never apologize for dating outside my race.

dimsumTaking selfies and photos of food
I take selfies because this is my life- me. No husband. No kids. Just me. So sharing my life on social media, it’s going to include selfies. And as far as food, I’ve always taken pictures of my food, even before social media was a thing.

Not wanting biological children
When I was a little girl, I didn’t play with a baby doll and dream of the day I’d have my own baby. Instead, I played “college.” I’d wake up on Saturday mornings, ride my bike around the neighborhood going to “class” with my imaginary college roommate named Jenny. I do not have a desire to have my own biological children, and I never have. This is something I often apologize for, which is crazy. I’m open to marrying someone with children, and I’m very open to adoption. Me not wanting to give birth isn’t something I should have to apologize for.

Having a heart for people who are homeless
I work for a homeless ministry. The people we serve… wow. I can’t even begin to tell you how THEY have changed MY life and how I look at the world. It’s easy to look at a homeless man and think, “Bum. Get a job.” But you don’t know their story. You don’t know their trauma, their mental illness, the reason they can’t just go out and get a job. My heart for those facing a homeless crisis grows every single day.

1012333_10151453432236573_275048135_nHaving a different world view
This certainly doesn’t make me any better than anyone else, but the fact is, I’ve been a lot of places. I’ve seen a lot of things. I’ve visited third-world countries on two continents. I’ve spent time with young girls who were victims of sex trafficking in Thailand. I’ve met a boy in Uganda who was a victim of child sacrifice but amazingly survived. My world view is going to be different. While stateside Christians are angry about kneeling football players and liberal Hollywood, I’m angry about poverty, sex trafficking, child sacrifice, homelessness. That’s all due to my different world view, and I won’t apologize for it. In all honestly, I should probably speak up about it more.

Blogging the truth
I hold back a lot. I have 38 blog posts I’ve written but not posted because I fear people won’t like what I have to say. Then again, that’s kind of part of being a writer. I was once telling a friend about a blog that a woman from her church writes. She’s a phenomenal writer, and I said I admired her talent. My friend responded, “You’re talented, too. It’s just that her blog is like a warm hug, and your is like a kick in the ass. But readers need both!” My friends are awesome.

I have a feeling that 37 is going to be amazing. Every year I become more and more like the person I desire to be and the person God wants me to be. I will not apologize for that. And I just might do it while drinking Starbucks and taking a selfie.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made…”
Psalm 139:14

My Melanoma Story

Genetics. Tanning beds throughout my 20’s. Severe sunburns from when I lived in Uganda. It all likely played a part in why I had a chunk of my face removed two months ago. But whatever the official reason was doesn’t matter. All that mattered was that I had melanoma, the deadliest form of skin cancer, on my face.

IMG-0670It was September of 2015 when I visited the dermatologist about a spot on my right cheek. It was a small, dry, red patch. It was growing, and no amount of lotion or coconut oil was making it go away. The dermatologist recognized it as precancerous immediately, and ended up blasting the spot with liquid nitrogen. It turned white on the edges, but within a few weeks, the spot disappeared.

A little more than a year later, a mole started to grow in that same spot. At first, small and brown. Then it began to grow. One area was black. The edges were jagged. It was a strange-looking spot. I decided to have it checked out.

I was hoping the dermatologist would say, “No, that’s nothing.” But instead what I got was a concerned, “Yes, we need to biopsy that today.”

First they numbed the area with a series of shots. (Shots to the face are REAL fun.) Then she razored out a small chunk of the spot on my face. At this point my face was bleeding and wouldn’t stop, so she had to cauterize the area. Nothing like seeing smoke rise from your face while smelling burning flesh.

I was told they would call me in a week with results.

A week went by and I hadn’t heard anything.

“I’m sure it’s fine!” so many people said.

“It’s nothing, that’s why they haven’t called!” others said.

But my curiosity got the best of me and I called the dermatologist on a Friday morning. My results had just come in.

“Your biopsy shows melanoma. It’s very small, but bigger than what we call “superficial.” So it’s not a best-case scenario, but certainly not the worst. You’ll need to have surgery to remove the melanoma, and since it’s on your face, we’ll refer you to a plastic surgeon.”

For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t really feel any emotion.

“Melanoma cancer is serious, so we’ll want to get you in as soon as possible,” she said. “Are you OK? Do you have any questions?”

“Um, no questions,” I replied.

We set up a consultation with a plastic surgeon, and hung up.

And then I cried. Unfortunately, I’d already prepared for bad news and read up on melanoma. I knew it was the worst type of skin cancer to have. I knew it could kill you. Although small, the deadliest type of skin cancer was on my face- not far from my brain or my lymph nodes, where melanoma spreads to before it kills you.

It was small. The surgeon would remove it. I wouldn’t have to do chemotherapy or any other sort of radiation, as long as he removed it all. But still. I was told that I had cancer. Words no one wants to hear.

IMG-0410It was about a week later when I met with the plastic surgeon. He explained the stages of melanoma and where mine fell.  The stages run from Stage 0 (superficial) to Stage IV. Mine was a Stage 1 melanoma.

He drew on my face to show how big of an area he would remove. Typically, he said, there would be another appointment before surgery, but since this was melanoma, there was no time to waste. It had to be done sooner than later.

It’s funny how people react to skin cancer. I heard a lot of, “Oh I had a spot removed once,” and, “I had basal cell carcinoma skin cancer before.” Which, yes, sucks, because all cancer sucks. But this was melanoma, and people don’t understand how deadly it can be once it spreads. Not to mention the fact that this was on my face.

IMG-0733But I kept a positive attitude. How could I not? It was somewhat of a simple “fix,” assuming the surgeon removed all the melanoma during surgery. And yes, I’d have a hideous wound on my face for awhile, but that’s nothing compared to burn victims, people who have had acid thrown on their faces, etc., etc. I tried to keep things in perspective, and certainly leaned on my faith in the Lord as I awaited surgery.

My surgery- wide excision- was on August 9. I was sedated, but was “awake” for the surgery. I was tied down to the table, so as not to jolt and mess up the surgeon cutting my face open. It was quite an interesting experience.

Recovery wasn’t bad at all, which surprised me. Once the numbness wore off that night, it was pretty painful, but the next morning and on was fine. It looked, however, pretty disgusting when I was allowed to take off the bandage.

IMG-0319Within four days, they removed the stitches, and it began to heal. And within a week, we received the results of the biopsy of what they removed- my margins were clear, and all of the melanoma was successfully removed.

Praise. God.

But my journey isn’t over yet.

Just last week I met with an oncologist. My surgeon said it would be a good idea, in case I get melanoma again, in case it has spread, I would already be established with one.

IMG-0932Because that’s the issue with melanoma- if it appears on your body once, it’s very possible that it will appear again. Whether due to genetics, tanning beds, or natural sun, I have the cells in my body to produce melanoma. The oncologist will check my lymph nodes again in three months, I have to get full body checks for suspicious spots every six months for the next 3-5 years, and then, if no other melanomas appear, I still have to be checked every year for the rest of my life.

I’ve been told it will take a good year to tell how well the scar has healed. There are a lot of nerves in the face, so it will also take awhile to know whether or not I’ll regain feeling in that area. Right now, if I touch the top part of the scar, it feels like I’m touching the bottom of it. Nerves are a funny thing!

IMG-1868I hope my melanoma story ends here. I plan to be smarter in the sun- wearing SPF 30 every day, whether I’m at the beach or not. And I’ve been encouraging all my friends and family to get checked, and many of them have! All have been fine, with the exception of a friend’s husband who has a superficial melanoma spot on his arm that has to be removed.

But thank the Lord that people are getting checked. If I went through this just to make others more aware of taking care of their skin and going to the dermatologist, it was worth it.

I’m very lucky. Melanoma kills, and it’s one of the fastest growing cancers for people in their 20’s and 30’s.

I get it. Everyone looks better with a tan. fbprofile

I get it. It won’t happen to you, right? That’s certainly what I thought. Nothing could stop me from tanning. Not even the threat of deadly skin cancer.

But my lesson has been learned. I pray no one else I know has to learn this lesson.

Some people commented on my bravery as I went through the entire thing. I can only attribute my positive attitude and outlook to my faith in God. I knew, and I still know, that He has a plan for my life. And even if that plan includes melanoma, I’m happy to live it, because there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in God’s will for my life.

Note: The melanoma was found in my right cheek. In photos, it appears to change because some of the photos are selfies and were taken with a phone that reverses the photo.