I came home from work, put on shorts and started taking pictures of my thigh. See:

 
Ignore the dirty room. Or judge me. Whatever. 

I just want to remember what it looks like now because in a few weeks it will be chopped up, and–because of my skin tone being generally pasty–there is likely to forever be a scar where the bandaid is. The biopsy on what lies beneath the bandaid was “severely atypical” and so, they have to cut more out. Carve it out until they get to normal cells. 

And I’m angry, sad, brave, and hopeful. All at once. The emotions ricochet around all over the map right now. It could be worse. This I know. It’s quite likely we caught it in time and I’ll be fine. At the same time, it’s never the answer you want to hear. Why? Why now?! All was well. Life was going okay. I know I’ll wear a scar like the badass I am…and I’ll get through it like a champ. Cause that’s what I do isn’t it? Through all that life has thrown, haven’t I come out on top? 

When I left work (before the thigh photo shoot), I was greeted by a beautiful purple sunset. 

See:  

 
And I got in my car and started crying as I drove home. Purple is my favorite color. And I didn’t know if I was happy or sad. It felt like a gift from God telling me all was well. Like it was custom made for me. (There’s no filter on that FYI.) But I couldn’t help but be a little terrified. 

And I needed a sign from above. Because truth is for 24 hours all I needed to hear were those three little words and to not feel like I’m about to go to battle against the C word alone. Kudos to the friends who knew before this and have sent prayers and words of kindness. Without you, surely I would crumble.

I can take it. Hell, I always do. And if you’ll excuse the emotions and give me a minute to get my bearings, I’ll come out happier and more beautiful than ever. Cause that’s how I do it. Every damn time. But until then, excuse the mess.