A few months ago, I noticed my skin was starting to sport moles.
No, not THAT kind.
There you go.
I read that moles tend to happen in one’s thirties and thought little of it. Perhaps that “I’m Invincible” feeling was still lingering from my teens.
But as the year wore on, one particular mole kept staring up at me from my front right torso, as if to say “I’m important.”
Further research revealed that melanoma is not something to trifle with. It would seem that skin cancer is one of the most treatable cancers if caught early and one of the least treatable if not. I spoke to a couple fortuitously placed church friends and learned that investigating the mole via a “shave biopsy” carried a benefit-to-cost ratio too high to ignore.
Man. There’s a word I never wanted to be using in my thirties. Or, y’know, ever.