By: Lisa Harrington
Updated: Dec. 6, 2019
Originally Published: Dec. 6, 2019
At the age of 13, I faced a harrowing experience when I discovered a malignant tumor on my 18-month-old niece. While attempting to soothe her to sleep, I felt a small, hard lump at the base of her spine. Despite its inconspicuous size, an unsettling instinct surged through me, akin to the sensation of touching a live wire. I knew something was terribly amiss.
To my dismay, my intuition was correct. That seemingly minor lump was just the visible portion of a much larger problem: rhabdomyosarcoma, a fierce pediatric muscle cancer that had taken over most of her abdomen. Our family was thrust into a nightmare we never anticipated. Thankfully, after extensive surgery and treatment, my niece is now cancer-free and recently celebrated her 27th birthday, but that’s not the focus of my narrative.
I share this story to illustrate the depth of fear I felt years later when I experienced that same gut-wrenching sensation regarding my son. While I had noticed a brown spot on his hip previously, I dismissed it as an innocent freckle or a minor scab. My son, now 11, was well past the days when I regularly bathed him, so I rarely saw that part of his body.
One night, while tucking him in, the waistband of his pajamas slipped down, exposing the spot once again. This time, however, it appeared more concerning. “Carter, how long has that been there?” I asked, my brow furrowed in worry. “I don’t know, maybe months?” he replied nonchalantly. “Does it hurt?” I inquired, heart racing. “Nope. But sometimes it bleeds,” he said, as if that were completely normal.
As I reached out to touch it, I felt that familiar chill coursing through me—a sensation I had previously associated with cancer. Maintaining composure for Carter’s sake, I played it cool with a casual “hmm” and kissed him goodnight, but inside I was in turmoil.
Once I was alone, tears of fear and guilt streamed down my face. How could I have been so oblivious? What if this was another scenario similar to my niece’s? The next morning, I promptly called a dermatologist, and to my surprise, I secured an appointment for Carter that very day. While I explained to him that we needed to have the spot examined, I kept my anxiety to myself, hoping to shield him from my worries.
The dermatologist, a mother herself, immediately established a connection with us. After a thorough examination, she recommended removing the spot for biopsy. Carter seemed a bit uneasy, but thankfully it was due to the procedure, not the potential implications. When he stepped out to use the restroom, I broke into tears in front of the doctor. “Please, as a fellow mother, tell me if this is something serious. I’m terrified.”
Her response was frank yet compassionate: “If I saw this on a 45-year-old, I’d be very concerned.” While this was alarming to hear, it validated my fears. However, she added, “Considering Carter’s age, I’m a bit more optimistic. We’ll send it for biopsy and get answers.”
The excision was larger than I anticipated, but Carter handled it like a trooper. He returned to his carefree life, while I was left anxiously waiting for nearly two weeks, as the sample had to be sent to a city lab. Each day felt elongated, and sleepless nights became routine, filled with nightmares and worry. I even made the mistake of Googling skin cancer images—never a good idea when you’re already anxious.
In the midst of this turmoil, I realized how often I took my children for granted, losing sight of their unique traits. I scrutinized every detail about Carter, from the green flecks in his steely gray eyes to his infectious humor and laid-back demeanor. I promised myself I would cherish these little things, no matter the outcome.
Finally, I received the call I had been dreading. The diagnosis was an angiokeratoma—a harmless cluster of dilated blood vessels. Most importantly, it was not cancerous, and Carter was going to be just fine. He now has a small scar on his hip, but I bear a much larger emotional scar from that nerve-racking experience.
Even though pediatric skin cancer is rare, the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia notes a 2% annual increase in melanoma cases among children. Thus, I’ve become much more vigilant about my kids’ sun protection, understanding that sunburns in childhood can increase the risk of skin cancer later in life. For both their sake and my own peace of mind, I refuse to take that risk.
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Summary:
In recounting a personal experience concerning my son’s skin health, I reflect on the profound fear I felt when a mole raised alarm bells reminiscent of a past family trauma. With timely medical intervention, we discovered it was a benign condition, yet the experience underscored the importance of vigilance in children’s health and sun protection.
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