It's only 3 weeks!!!

Over the summer, I noticed a flaky patch on my nose. For a while, there had been a red patch that came and went, so I didn't think much of it—until I scratched it, it bled, and then refused to heal. A month later, I was at the dermatologist's office.

She took one look, did a biopsy, and delivered the verdict: Basal Cell Carcinoma. In my naivety, I thought she could just zap it right there. Instead, she sent me to another guy—a specialist in MOHS surgery. His job is to cut out the cancer and check it on-site, layer by layer, until he can verify it's all gone.

In my case, "all gone" included some of my cartilage. The doctor initially mentioned grafting a piece from my ear, but after examining the new crater on my nose, he charted a different course. "It's about a three-week process," he assured me, "and you'll be much happier with the results."

The new plan? A forehead flap. It was an extremely difficult procedure, and I wanted no part of it. But more than that, I just wanted it over with. "It's only three weeks of my life," became my mantra.

The first three days were rough. The first night home, I managed to drop a pillow directly on my face. The next day, I was introduced to a headache of epic, previously unknown proportions. By day two, I fully understood why they emphasized drinking lots of water with the hydrocodone. Day three was better, but the fear lingered.

My friends certainly rallied this week. I've been blessed with food, blankets, and an almost concerning amount of Snoopy-themed merchandise, including a coffee cup and socks. Between the beautiful flower arrangements, the home-cooked meals, and the constant calls, I've been well looked after. Next week, it's back to the doctor for a check-up and a good cleaning. Only two weeks left on this particular journey—and frankly, it can't end soon enough.

But the real MVP is Dennis. He's schlepped to every pharmacy in town, endured some truly awkward requests, and kept my wound clean. Thanks to him, my life is about as good as it can be when you have a hole in your nose.

I can't believe I was actually looking forward to some time off work. It turns out, a break is only enjoyable when you aren't recovering from major surgery. I missed my granddaughter's concert. My other grandkid, Danny, broke his arm, and I couldn't help take care of the girls or even visit him in the hospital. This certainly wasn't the relaxing staycation I had envisioned.