The Black Spot

This week is the saga of the ear, unless I am too ill to post a report. I am quite attached to this ear. I have had it for a long time, but now we must part company. Old pictures of me with the ear show the Black-Spot goes way back.

Black-Spot on the London Eye in 2003

The dermatologist discovered a melanoma on the lobe in January, and referred me to the plastic surgeons. I was seen by Mr Silitoe in February, and he operated on 10th March. He is a formidable man, solid in appearance, with one blind eye that I tried not to stare at, though I had read on line that he had been done for speeding in a Jag. He also had a huge swelling upon the wrist, covered with a little bandage, which hung before my gaze as he performed the op under local. My medical curiosity longs to know his history, but as a patient I must assume the role of silent acceptance. 

I could hear the knife slice through the cartilage, and the nylon stitches squeaked as they were drawn through to close the excision, but it was clean, quick and pain-free. He did a good job, that healed well with barely a scar, and little change in the profile.

Black-Spot exchanged for little scar

It had been a very small black spot on the lobe, that had been present for years, but had recently changed. It looked nothing at all, other than a cosmetic blemish, and at follow up OP clinic, I was certain he would tell me it had been excised, and other than routine check-ups, nothing more to worry about. But he didn't. "It's over 1.5 mm deep," he said, which is beyond the threshold for a Stage I. I was disappointed, and a little stunned by the unexpectedness of it. "I recommend having further wide excision, and sentinel node biopsy," he concluded, punching the words at me. I resisted the urge to ask him if he still had has Jag.

So now I am lined up for Addenbrooke's under the care of Mr Durrani, with the intention of losing more of the ear and a node biopsy. People ask, "how are you?", and "are you worried?" but the emotions are not of fear or distress (heavens, I removed enough small lumps myself as a medical student and surgical houseman in the old days). No, I think the over-riding emotion is anger. One sees the world going on as it always does (disturbing though it be in the UK this year), oblivious to one's own future or outcome. But the anger is not even against the indifference of the world - I think it is internal, to know for certain one's days are numbered. Even given another 10 years, it seems too little when still enjoying life and living, and wanting to do so much more. I am angry that the days close in, circumscribed by a wall we cannot climb. Angry at the time wasted and misused, even though probably I would have done nothing much or anything different. But in youth there is potential to do much. With age, even potential is stripped away by limiting time.