This is why you should always trust your gut and become your own strongest advocate when it comes to your health care. My experience with basal cell carcinoma, including surgery pictures, serves as a powerful reminder of what can happen when you don’t. Don’t let my journey be yours without learning these crucial lessons.
For over two years, I’ve felt compelled to share this deeply personal story about the critical importance of trusting your intuition regarding your health. The memories of that time, the fear, and the raw images from my basal cell carcinoma surgery have made it difficult to revisit. However, I am finally ready to open up and share my journey, hoping it empowers others to advocate for themselves. This account, originally published in October 2018, remains just as relevant today.
The Unmistakable Call to Trust Your Gut in Healthcare
If you’re someone who finds medical imagery unsettling, you might have already navigated away from this page. But if you’re still here, I’m truly grateful you’ve chosen to stay and learn from my experience. From the moment I first felt and saw a persistent, non-healing scab on the top of my head, an instinct deep within told me something wasn’t right. After enduring the subsequent surgery and a challenging recovery, I knew I had a responsibility to share my story. My hope is that by doing so, I can help others avoid a similar ordeal.
It was the middle of 2014 when I first noticed a scaly bump. Like many people, I initially dismissed it, assuming it would simply disappear on its own. After all, minor skin irritations are common, and we often hope for the best. However, six months passed, and the spot remained. Given my family’s history of skin cancer and my own past experiences with precancerous moles requiring removal, I am typically very proactive about regular dermatology check-ups, no matter where I live. Prevention has always been a cornerstone of my health philosophy.
Upon my first visit to the dermatologist, I was assured it was “just dermatitis” and given a generic liquid treatment. For a few months, it seemed to offer some relief, but the persistent, scabby spot inevitably returned. Despite the expert’s reassurance, a persistent whisper in my mind, my gut feeling, told me something was amiss.
- I found myself reasoning, “He must be right; he’s an expert, I’m not.”
- I consciously tried to ignore my instincts, that deep inner knowing that something wasn’t quite right.
- Perhaps out of a subconscious desire to avoid bad news, I didn’t push for further diagnostic tests. I secretly hoped my gut was wrong – but it wasn’t.
Another six months went by, and the nagging feeling intensified. The spot on my scalp continued to bother me, prompting a visit to my regular doctor. To my dismay, I received the same “diagnosis” – merely dermatitis. Once again, my gut screamed otherwise, but the human tendency to wish away serious problems took over. I convinced myself to hope my intuition was mistaken and carried on for another six months, unknowingly delaying a critical diagnosis.
The Indisputable Power of Patient Advocacy: Why Your Intuition Matters Most
I wasted another year, holding onto a belief I instinctively knew was false. It’s rare for my gut feeling to lead me astray, and this situation was no exception. The unease grew into a firm resolve, and I decided to revisit the first dermatologist, reiterating that I felt something was profoundly wrong. This was now two years after my initial discovery of the spot.
Yet again, the dermatologist offered the same words: “It must just be dermatitis.” But this time, I listened to my gut with unwavering conviction. I refused to leave until I had a definitive diagnosis for this persistent, troubling spot. Lying on the examination table, preparing for a punch biopsy on my scalp – knowing it would leave an open wound requiring time to heal – I was ready for an answer, hoping it would prove the doctor right, even though my instincts suggested otherwise.
- Immediately after performing the biopsy, as he lifted the small piece of skin, his demeanor changed. “Oh…” he began, “you’re going to have to have the surgeon look at this.”
- My gut had been right all along. It was likely what I had feared for two years, despite my fervent hopes to be wrong. The dread of a serious diagnosis had prevented me from pushing harder earlier, a mistake I now urge others to avoid.
Understanding Basal Cell Carcinoma (BCC): The Most Common Skin Cancer
Before delving further into my surgical experience, it’s important to understand what basal cell carcinoma (BCC) is. BCC is the most common type of skin cancer, accounting for about 80% of all diagnosed cases. It typically arises in the basal cells, which are found in the outermost layer of the skin (epidermis). BCCs often appear as a persistent sore that bleeds, crusts, or oozes, a shiny bump, a red patch, or a scar-like area. Mine presented as a scaly, non-healing spot, often mistaken for dermatitis or a persistent scab, exactly as it was in my case. While BCC rarely spreads to other parts of the body, it can be locally destructive, growing deeper into the skin, bone, or other tissues if left untreated. This is why early detection and effective treatment, like Mohs surgery, are so critical. Risk factors include prolonged sun exposure, a history of sunburns, fair skin, and a family history of skin cancer.
My Basal Cell Carcinoma Mohs Surgery Experience: Pictures and Process
The three long months I spent waiting for a surgery date that summer felt like an eternity. The anxiety was immense, as I had no real idea how invasive or straightforward the procedure to remove the basal cell carcinoma from my scalp would be. As they began to shave a significant portion of my hair, a chilling realization washed over me: this was going to be far worse than I had ever imagined. And it was.
I underwent Mohs micrographic surgery, a specialized technique for removing skin cancers. Mohs surgery involves removing thin layers of skin containing cancer cells, one layer at a time. Each layer is immediately examined under a microscope by a pathologist while the patient waits. This process continues until no cancer cells are detected, ensuring complete removal while preserving as much healthy tissue as possible. After the first excision, I was bandaged and sent to a waiting room filled with other skin cancer patients, hoping they had “gotten it all.” They hadn’t.
Back into the chair I went for another round of basal cell cancer Mohs surgery. Some of the anesthesia had begun to wear off, and the surgeon had to re-administer the numbing agent directly into the large, open wound on my scalp. As she prepared to excise a larger area, I completely broke down. It was that raw, ugly cry – the kind where you can’t stop, overwhelmed by fear and profound sadness. My emotional outburst even startled the doctor a little.
There I was, a 41-year-old woman, crying like a child in a doctor’s office, with an open wound the size of a golf ball on my head, extending all the way down to my skull. The surgeon, unsure if I was in pain or simply distressed, paused. I had to explain: my beloved aunt had battled skin cancer years prior. She was told it had been completely removed, and she was okay. But a few years later, she became terribly ill, only to discover the cancer had not been fully eradicated and had aggressively spread. Within six months, she was gone. She was in her mid-40s, just like me. The thought of experiencing a similar fate, of a misdiagnosis leading to such a tragic outcome, was utterly terrifying.
Needless to say, after that deeply emotional moment and the next round of tissue removal, the pathology results finally came back clear. The relief was immense, and then the stitching began. The healing process was extensive, taking a full year for complete recovery. For a good six months, I had to wear headbands to cover the open wound, which required diligent packing with salve to keep it moist. It was a challenging and uncomfortable period, given the location on my scalp. Yet, through it all, I focused on the positive lessons learned and the invaluable insights I gained.
Crucial Lessons for Empowered Healthcare: My Takeaways on Patient Advocacy
My journey through basal cell carcinoma fundamentally changed me. It solidified my belief in the power of self-advocacy and the critical importance of listening to your body. I want to share these hard-won lessons so that perhaps what I endured doesn’t have to happen to you or your loved ones:
- Always Trust Your Gut: When you feel something isn’t quite right with your health, that intuitive alarm bell is often your body trying to tell you something vital. Do not dismiss it.
- Don’t Procrastinate: As soon as you suspect a problem, especially with a persistent symptom like a non-healing sore or a changing mole, get it looked at immediately. Delays can have serious consequences.
- Seek Multiple Professional Opinions: If you receive a diagnosis that doesn’t sit right with you, or if symptoms persist despite treatment, don’t hesitate to consult another doctor or specialist. Different perspectives can be invaluable.
- Demand Thorough Tests: Be empowered to ask for specific diagnostic tests that may confirm or rule out what you suspect. In my case, if I had insisted on a biopsy much earlier, my surgery and subsequent recovery likely would have been far less extensive and traumatic.
- Educate Yourself: While relying on medical professionals is essential, educating yourself about your symptoms and potential conditions can help you ask more informed questions and better advocate for your needs.
Beyond the Scar: A Transformed Perspective and Finding Strength
Has this experience changed me? Most definitely! I used to consider myself a “glass half empty” kind of person. While those days aren’t entirely gone, they are far less frequent than before. My perspective on life, health, and gratitude has shifted profoundly. Every day is a gift, and I’m more attuned to the simple joys.
Does it bother me that I have a permanent bald spot on the top of my head where hair will never grow again? Yes, it does. But the way I choose to look at it is this: “It could have been infinitely worse. As long as I don’t have to go through that terrifying experience again, I am perfectly fine with it.” This scar is a testament to my survival, a constant reminder of my resilience.
You might wonder why I’m sharing this particular family photo, taken just 2.5 months after my surgery when my head was far from healed. I seriously considered skipping family photos that year, feeling self-conscious about the visible healing. But something told me I should just do it, and I’m so glad I did. It’s a powerful image for me.
I later elaborated on this sentiment in another article about why you should always make time for family photos and stop making excuses. If I, after such an ordeal and creatively hiding my bandage with a bobby pin, could be in those photos, you have absolutely no reason not to.
I share my story with you for several reasons:
- It’s therapeutic for me; writing and journaling my experiences helps me process them.
- I feel it is my duty to share what I went through, hoping to empower you to be your own advocate when it comes to your health. Prevention and early detection are absolutely key.
- You too might feel like, “it won’t happen to me,” but sometimes, it does. My story is proof of that.
- It’s perfectly okay to be the mom under the hat sometimes. True beauty radiates from within, far beyond superficial appearances.
My ultimate message is simple, yet profoundly important:
Trust. Your. Gut. Period.
Mohs Surgery Scar Pictures: A Testament to Survival and Advocacy
The journey to full recovery from Mohs surgery, especially on the scalp, can be extensive and leave a noticeable scar. These images are not just pictures of a healed wound; they are visual narratives of a battle fought and won. They stand as a powerful reminder of the importance of early detection of skin cancer, the efficacy of Mohs surgery in precise removal, and the enduring mark left by such a significant health challenge. Each scar tells a story of perseverance, vigilance, and the absolute necessity of trusting one’s inner voice in the face of medical uncertainty. May they serve as a testament to the fact that while scars may remain, life continues, often with a newfound appreciation and strength gained from overcoming adversity.