Ain't Gonna Miss You

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about a dear melahomie who’s been lying in the hospital recuperating from yet another melanoma tumor excision. And wondering why she has yet to catch a break from the Black Beast, while I’ve been Mr. NED for over ten years.

Hoping and praying that this surgery is the end of it for her and her melanoma is gone for good, I’ll sign off with a little song to melanoma, to the tune of Eric Clapton’s “Miss You”…



Don't change your mind,
I ain't got the time to sit and wonder.
I'm doing fine.
If you decide to leave, I won't go under.

You know I've come this far without you;
It won't be too hard to be alone.
I've got sunscreen all around me,
So I won't be spending too much dimes on moles.

Mel, ain’t gonna miss you.
Ain’t gonna miss you, baby.
I can't forgive you,
Mel, I'm gonna diss you, baby.

No, don't say I’m cured.
I already heard that you could stun me.
In my state of mind,
I don't need to hear your side of the gory.

Your friends all said we have a future
And I don't think I really want to glow.
My friends keep telling me to lose you
And how glad they'll be when you decide to go.

Mel, ain’t gonna miss you.
Ain’t gonna miss you, baby.
I can't forgive you,
Mel, I'm gonna diss you, baby.

I’d break my back to make you past C.
Sometime, somehow, someone's got to dare.
‘Cuz we think we're better off without C,
Just remember, it's a ‘Cure C’ world out there.

Mel, ain’t gonna miss you.
Ain’t gonna miss you, baby.
I can't forgive you,
Mel, I'm gonna diss you, baby.

Ain’t gonna miss the rounds you brought on,
Gonna kiss the friends you grieve.
I'm just not quite happy, Ray C,
'bout your lazy plans to leave.

Just What The Doctor Ordered

A bill has been introduced in the Colorado General Assembly that would prohibit tanning salons from allowing the use of tanning beds by anyone under the age of 18, unless the minor has a written prescription from a physician authorizing the use. So I got to wondering whether any reputable and competent physician would prescribe commercial tanning bed use for a patient.

Based on a statement on indoor tanning from the American Society for Dermatologic Surgery Association, the answer seems to be an emphatic “no”. The ASDSA opposes such prescription exemptions in tanning bed legislation because:

“Indoor tanning does not constitute phototherapy. Contrary to claims by indoor tanning advocates, indoor tanning devices found in tanning salons do not constitute medical treatments. There are legitimate uses of UV devices to treat skin conditions such as psoriasis and eczema. However, these types of UV devices, found in physician offices, are classified differently by the Food and Drug Administration, and thus more strictly regulated.

Prescribing indoor tanning as a medical treatment puts patients at risk. Many state legislatures proposing restrictions on minors’ access to indoor tanning devices have considered provisions to allow physicians to prescribe indoor tanning. The ASDSA opposes such exemptions, as they give legitimacy to misleading claims that indoor tanning devices offer a legitimate health and medical benefit to consumers.”

And given the growing body of medical evidence indicating that indoor tanning is a big risk factor for melanoma and other forms of skin cancer, the recovering attorney in me can’t help but grin when pondering the medical malpractice liability risk for the physician writing that tanning bed prescription for a minor who subsequently checks into The Hotel Melanoma. I think a good trial lawyer could convince a jury that the doc’s ‘treatment’ was akin to writing a ‘scrip for a minor to buy a carton of cigarettes as a remedy for ADHD.

Wondering whether I should reactivate my law license and find myself an apprenticeship in medical malpractice law before launching a potentially lucrative new legal career, I’ll sign off with some new lyrics to Ted Nugent’s “Just What The Doctor Ordered”…



I got my first scar when I was ten years old
Found a love in cookin' moles
Now I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown
Fries gonna git my body and soul

C's so crazy
But you know that I ‘like’ it
I've found a ‘cure’ for my body and soul
I've got me an overdose from doctor’s scroll

I tanned everyday
I tanned every night
I tanned skin ‘til I blew all the zits
Now I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown
I don't know the meaning of quit

C’s so crazy
Yes you know, but I ‘like’ it
It crushes my head, my brain is on the border
But this is what the doctor ordered
Yes, it is

I tanned everyday
I tanned every night
I tanned skin ‘til I blew all the zits
Now I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown
I don't know the meaning of quit

C's so crazy
But I ‘like’ it
It crushes my head, my brain is on the border
But this is what the doctor ordered

Recurrence Endurance

I’ve been living in a state of blessed NEDness for just over 10 years after treatment for Stage IIIc melanoma. But according to my oncologist and a recent study I’m not completely out of the woods and never will be.

Researchers at the John Wayne Cancer Institute found in a study of over 4,700 melanoma patients that the recurrence rates were 6.8 percent 15 years after initial treatment and 11.3 percent at 25 years. Principal investigator Dr. Mark Faries summed up the study results with this stark news for all of us living in NEDland:

“It appears that the risk of melanoma recurrence is never completely gone. One change that should result from our study is that people need to be followed up for life with a physician after a diagnosis of melanoma.”

So I’m committed to a plan of lifelong follow-up, and I hope you are too. Because we’re living at The Hotel Melanoma, where you can check out any time you like but you can never leave.

Hoping that I can always afford to stay insured until I reach the age of Medicare-eligibility, I’ll sign off with a new rendition of The Grateful Dead’s “Sugar Magnolia”…



Lurker mel’noma, blossoms blooming, NED for twenty and C don’t care,
Got my Ray C down by a sliver, knew C'd have to come up soon for air.

‘Sweet’ blossom done gone, under the chemo, we can have fine times if you'll just hide
We can discover the wonders of great cure, rolling in the toxics down by the clinic side.

C's got everything be frightful, C's got everything I grieve,
Makes me squeal when I'm seeing trouble, pay my clinic when I need.

C comes skimmin' through waves of violence, C can wade in a drop of you,
C might come and I want followed, waits backstage while I sing to you.

Well, C can dance a Cajun rhythm, jump like a Willys in four wheel drive.
C's a summer ‘love’ for spring, fall and winter. C can make crappy any man alive.

Lurker mel’noma, ringing that blue bell, caught up in scan light, come on out swinging
I'll block you in the sunshine, come on ‘honey’, come stay gone from me.

C's got everything be frightful, C’s got everything I grieve,
The ‘screen’s on my hide in the summer night moonlight,
Ray C’s in the sunlight, yes indeed.

Sometimes when the cuckoo's crying, when the moon is half way down,
Sometimes when the night is dying, I take C out and I wonder around, I wonder
'round.

Sunshine, ray ‘screen, stalking in salon pleas, going where the skin glows
Blooming like a red rose, peeling’s so freaky,
Hide from singe thing, I'll block you in the morning sunshine
Sunshine, ray ‘screen. Sunshine, ray ‘screen. Blocking in the sunshine.

Futures With Sutures

My golden retriever pup Palmer and I have both started the new year in stitches, he as a result of neutering surgery and me for a repeat whack at excising a squamous cell carcinoma. While Palmer most definitely caught the worst end of it in our duel adventures with the scalpel, I couldn’t help but notice some marked differences in canine versus human patient care.

Palmer’s vet performed his surgery, while I got a supervised resident who didn’t look old enough to legally purchase recreational marijuana. His vet called twice within the first twenty-fours after his discharge to ask how her patient was recovering. I, on the other hand, was sent home with a derm nurse phone number to call if I exhibited uncontrollable bleeding or signs of serious infection. And when I got my sutures removed yesterday, the derm nurses weren’t entirely certain they’d gotten all of them out and instructed me to call if I noticed any signs of my immune system rejecting a foreign object and any more threads popping out of the incision site. When Palmer gets his sutures removed next week he’ll get hugs and dog treats, and I’m sure his vet will call at least once in the following twenty-four hours to check on his well-being.

So I’m seriously considering having my next biopsy or excision performed at Palmer’s veterinary clinic. While I might have to wear the “cone of shame” for a week or so, the superior patient care just might be worth suffering this indignity. Do you think CIGNA would pay the claim?

Until next time, I’ll sign off with The Hotel Melanoma rendition of Ray Charles’ “I Don’t Need No Doctor”…



I don't need no doctor
'Cause I know vet’s taking me
I don't need no doctor, no, no
'Cause I know vet’s taking me
My skin’s too gone astray from my ray spree, ahh!
I'm coming down with a skin disease
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)

I don't need no doctor
For my skin lesions to be drilled
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)

I don't need no doctor, I tell ya now
For my skin lesions to be drilled
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)
Only my vet’s sweet charms,
Could ever take away skin chill
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)

Now the doctor say I need tests
(hey hey)
But all I need is vet’s tenderness
(hmmm hmm)
He put me on the resident’s list
(hey hey)
When all I need is her sweetness
(hmmm hmm)
He gave me a medicated lotion
But it didn't soothe
(It didn't soothe)
My cell motion
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)

I don't need no doctor
For my moles to get all gone
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)
I don't need no doctor, no, no
Wahhh! My moles be gettin’ gone
(I don't need no doctor)
(I don't need no doctor)

All I need is my vet, see!
Take me, please!
Won't you please give me cone
(I don't need no doctor)
You know what I'm talkin' about?
(I don't need no doctor)

I don't need no residents (I don't need no doctor)
I don't need slow motion
(I don't need no doctor)
I say, I don't need, no nurse-on-call drills
(I don't need no doctor)
I don't need slow motion
(I don't need no doctor)
I say, I don't need, no nurse-on-call drills
(I don't need no doctor)

For My Melahomies

It took me quite a long time to come out of my room at The Hotel Melanoma. But when I finally did, I started bumping into some of the kindest, toughest, and most supportive and compassionate people I’ve ever met in my 60-plus years on this planet. It’s a community nobody ever wanted to join, but a warm and caring community nonetheless. And I often wonder how many folks are fighting their personal battles with the Black Beast in total isolation and without the understanding and empathetic support that only other melanoma warriors who’ve walked in the same pair of uncomfortable shoes can provide. So I wish there was some way I could ‘knock’ on every door in this Hotel and coax the isolated occupants out to meet some wonderful new friends.

For all of my melahomies, here’s the Hotel Melanoma rendition of Neil Young’s “Long May You Run”…



We've been through
Same things together
With trunks of memories
Still to come
We found friends anew
In stormy weather
Long may you run

Long may you run
Long may you run
Although these changes
Have come
With your warm hearts shining
Like the sun
Long may you run

Well, it was
Back in my kid year in 1962
When I first got U on hide
But I sent that skin
On a long decline
Long may you run

Long may you run
Long may you run
Although these changes
Have come
With your warm hearts shining
Like the sun
Long may you run

Maybe M.D. Boys
Have got you now
With those days
Gettin’ IV line flow
Rollin' down
That crazy mole fun road
Gettin' to the surg’ on time

Long may you run
Long may you run
Although these changes
Have come
With your warm hearts shining
Like the sun
Long may you run

Getting Stupid

This past week, my home state of Colorado became the first in the Union to see the opening of licensed retail outlets for the sale of recreational marijuana, which are now permitted under state (but not federal) law. And as a boomer who came of age during the Woodstock Era, I’d be fibbing if I didn’t admit that I’ve thought about truckin’ to the nearest store in Denver and sampling the merchandise. But I think I’m going to pass, and that has a whole lot to do with the past decade of my life at The Hotel Melanoma.

Back when I was a lad, if a buddy asked me if I wanted to “get stupid” he was offering me the opportunity to smoke some pot. (With any luck, some from his stash.) It’s a phrase that so aptly describes the effects of smoking marijuana, at least for me. And there was a time in my youth when “getting stupid” seemed like a good time. But for me and most of my buddies, there came a time in our early 20’s when the idea of sitting on a couch for hours in a zombie-like state while listening to Pink Floyd lost its allure. And when putting jobs and careers on the line with a charge of illegal possession of a controlled substance started to seem like a really, really bad idea. Although there may have been some backsliding now and then on those rare occasions when a bunch of middle-aged juvenile delinquents have gotten together for a guy trip.

Fast-forward 25 years or so and I found myself checking into The Hotel Melanoma, where I’ve experienced extended periods of involuntarily “getting stupid” on various and sundry medications prescribed by licensed medical professionals to treat pain, nausea and other effects of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. And where I’ve gained a renewed appreciation of the pleasures of walking around with a clear head-- there’s just nothing like coming off of several days on a morphine pump or some potent psychotropic medication like Thorazine to make you quite grateful to once again have a firm grip on your mental faculties. And then there’s also that lingering mental fog known as chemo brain, which makes feeling stupid an all-to-familiar challenge of daily life.

Would I consider marijuana as an alternative treatment for tumor pain or chemotherapy nausea? Absolutely. It couldn’t possibly leave me any more stupid than some of the prescribed pharmaceuticals I’ve ingested. But purely for recreational use? I think that life at The Hotel Melanoma has taught me that “getting stupid” will be something I’d just as soon keep on avoiding if I can and that there’s nothing better than a “hit” of fresh Colorado air.

Until next time, I’ll sign off with of a new version of “Fresh Air” from Quicksilver Messenger Service…



Oh, what you do to me, oh, what you do to me, Hotel world.
Ooo, have another hit of sweet air, come on, ooo, have another hit.

I want to know where you're going,
I want to know, sweet mela, where you're gonna go, yeah.
Ooo, have another hit of fresh air, ooo, have another hit.

Oh, Ray C, what you gonna do, oh, ‘honey’, what you gonna do, ‘sweet’ thing?
Ooo, have another hit of sweet drugs, ooo, have another hit.

I drug you, yes I do, ‘babe’, and I drug you, I do, ‘sweet lips’.
Ooo, have another hit of ‘sweet’ melanoma fun time, ooo, have another hit.

Take me home, take me home, take me home ‘out you,
Take me home, I wanna go home ‘out you, mela world.
Ooo, have another hit of fresh air, ooo, have another hit.