Fun in the Sun

Welcome back everyone....

It seems as if we have skipped spring and moved straight into summer. Beautiful weather outside and I spent a nice 5 à 7 with some friends on a terrace at Newtown today. With this enticing weather comes a silent enemy - the SUN.

I recently had to write a reflective essay for one of my courses and I decided to write it about something significant that happened to me.

What you are about to read may come as a shock to most of you, but the purpose of this is to open your eyes and make you all more aware, by letting you all know what Evie and I experienced over the past few weeks.

“Everything is going to be okay”

It was early Friday morning and I was excited that my two-month Internal Medicine rotation, which felt like an Ironman Canada Triathlon, was finally coming to an end. I was in the middle of rounding on my six patients, when all of a sudden, my pocket vibrated - it was a text message from my girlfriend, Evie. A smile quickly spread on my face as I was expecting to read her usual morning “I love you” or “I miss you” message. I was wrong…

“Dr. Wang just called. It’s melanoma. I have an appt next week :( Can u call me please.”

My life suddenly flashed before my eyes, just like in the movies. I was flooded with a rush of thoughts, feelings and emotions – It was like a brain overload and I couldn’t think straight. Being in the medical field, I see patients in these types of situations everyday in clinic or on the ward. It would seem that I should be prepared to handle a hurdle like this. But no, this made absolutely no sense to me at all. Holding back my tears, I quickly ran to the conference room, trying not to make it too visible that something was wrong. I planted myself at a computer and entered the word “melanoma” into an Uptodate search. Bad idea. This is the first thing that popped up:

“[…], the most commonly fatal form of skin cancer, […]” Screening and early detection of melanoma. Uptodate.com 2012

My heart racing, I immediately dialed Evie’s number. She answered the phone, sobbing uncontrollably, and said that her dermatologist called with the results of her biopsy. Dr. Wang had explained that unfortunately it was melanoma, and that she would have to come to the Melanoma Clinic the following Wednesday. All I could hear was the word “melanoma,” which I associate with fatal form of skin cancer, possibly resulting in death. How could the love of my life, at the young age of 28, be diagnosed with skin cancer?

What about our future? What about our wedding? What about our children? What about our long, healthy life together? Was I overreacting? Maybe. However, I realize that there is no rational or logical way of thinking when this kind of news hits so close to home. I knew I needed to be strong, tell her not to worry and that everything was going to be okay. “I am going to be there with you, every step of the way!” She immediately relaxed and calmed down.

After hanging up the phone, I thought to myself, “How do I actually know that everything is going to be okay?” How many times do we tell patients in a day that everything is going to be okay? We base our knowledge on statistics, which guide us more or less towards the right direction. It seems so easy to say these words, almost knowing that we say them to instill confidence in our patients to help them fight their battle. Only this time, I knew this was not just a patient or a statistic, but the love of my life, and I felt like I was lying to her - I didn’t actually know if everything was going to be ok. I began questioning myself and thinking back to how many times I have said this to my patients. Experiencing things now from the passenger seat has given me a whole new outlook on the power of a physician. We hold the power of knowledge, and when it comes down to it, patients hold us to our word when we say, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Fortunately for my girlfriend, everything was okay. The mole that had been on her back for the last two years was caught in the early stages. It had grown to a depth of 0.67mm, which is a marker for great prognosis. Anything growing to 1mm and more has the potential to metastasize and likely be fatal. A large area of her back was excised and her melanoma was completely removed. She was cured of her cancer, and I was cured of my intense worry. I have become more humble from this experience, and see things in a much different perspective.

Please do not forget to check your skin for any unusual moles, and be safe in the sun!

Phil Vourtzoumis