I am writing this on the fifteenth anniversary of 9-11. The newspaper today informs me that, in the period immediately following the attacks, a national poll indicated that an overwhelming majority of the country (79%) felt that the crisis would make us stronger and more unified.

Yeah, right.

Of course, that’s not really my topic today. A lot of my attention right now is on health and my own personal strength in the midst of difficult times.

So, the news is: I got the results of my biopsies back two days ago. I had waited a full seven days to find out that the growth on my leg, tentatively identified as melanoma, is, in fact, benign.

Holy shit, what a relief.

The thing is, the biopsy for the bump on my nose was positive for basal cell carcinoma and I am being referred to a surgeon for the “Mohs procedure.” I am told that this kind of surgery is the absolute best way to go, especially for a cancer that is in such a sensitive and obvious place. It is an iterative surgical process that lasts as long as it needs to to ensure full removal of the cancer. I started looking online for descriptions, and am a tad freaked out by what’s in store for me.

Still, I’m still here.

One of the lines attributed to Angela (Claire Danes as a teenager), in “My So-Called Life” (1994-95), is:

“This life has been a test. If this had been an actual life, you would have received instructions on where to go and what to do.”

I’ve heard this quotation in other contexts as well. At any rate, it’s a line that keeps coming up for me right now.

As I navigate this limbo state, between knowing and not-knowing, I sorta wish someone really would just tell me where to go and what to do.

Any suggestions?

At age 69, many of my contemporaries have already faced life-altering and/or life-ending episodes: cancers of various flavors, heart-attacks, strokes, terrible injuries, major surgeries, etc. I happen to fall into the chronic-pain-sufferer category myself. But I have not actually had to deal with a life-threatening illness.

(I was once diagnosed with bladder cancer – two docs in an emergency room – but it turned out to be a mistake.)

So, I keep wondering, as I sit through these days of waiting for biopsy results: is it my turn?

I already know that surgery is in my immediate future. How about chemotherapy? Radiation? The end?

Not really cheery thoughts. Sorry.

I don’t know how to talk about this yet. “This” being my cancer diagnosis. Of course, I only have incomplete information right now, with more news to come. I will be waiting a few more days before I have the biopsy results.

So, I really can’t say much to anyone as I wait. I’ve told only two people so far that I’m in this limbo state, playing this waiting game, sweating this out. Both people I’ve talked to are cancer survivors themselves, one from breast cancer, one from colon cancer. They are doing fine today.

That’s hopeful. Except I don’t really know anyone who’s really beaten a melanoma diagnosis. Even Jimmy Carter has struggled, and he undoubtedly has the best health-care team in the world.

I’m doing ok, really I am. I’m moving through life normally: cleaning my apartment, updating my Mac software, posting my daily photo to Instagram, driving to Corvallis to take a walk at OSU. That kind of stuff. Still, there’s this feeling in the background like I could start to cry at any moment.

You see, it was just last Friday afternoon (three days ago) when I was at the dermatologist’s office and it only took about a minute for her to make the call of skin cancer on my nose. “Basal cell carcinoma,” she said, though we’re still waiting on the biopsy results. But it turns out this was likely the good news of the day. Apparently, with surgery, this condition is going to be mostly resolvable.

The bad news was that we biopsied another spot: a small brown thing on the back of my left leg. “Could be melanoma,” she said, rather casually.