This time last year I was relaxing after a day on the beach in Wales and Googling the annoying spot on the side of my nose which wouldn’t go away.
Then I found a picture of the exact same spot and the words alongside it made me feel instantly sick. Melanoma.
This isn’t one of those columns where I reveal my imminent death. I am very much alive. Amidst all the doom and gloom about NHS waiting lists, I thought I would share a happy experience.
I wasn’t happy last August. I was desperately worried and wanted a diagnosis as quickly as possible. We were still in and out of pandemic lockdowns and I assumed waiting lists would be long so I booked an appointment with a private consultant.
A few weeks later, to my surprise, my appointment with an NHS consultant came through before the private one so I cancelled the latter. I drove to Aberdeen, where an NHS Grampian skin specialist told me that he thought it probably was skin cancer, and that I would need a biopsy to confirm the diagnosis followed by surgery to remove it. ‘I wouldn’t bother going private,’ he said. ‘The treatment you get on the NHS is the best there is and you will have your surgery within a year, which won’t make any difference to the outcome.’
Those were the longest months of my life. The biopsy confirmed I had skin cancer in two locations on my nose but thankfully it was the kind of skin cancer which doesn’t spread. Nevertheless it would have to be completely removed. I would be the first to say I haven’t got the prettiest nose in the world. Some might say it is on the large side. But better to have a large nose than half a nose and I had no idea how disfigured I would be.
Time for my ‘facial’
The appointment, at the Scottish specialist centre for this surgery in Dundee, came through just a couple of months later. The date couldn’t have been more poignant. I would lose my old nose the day before my birthday.
The big day came and I was shown to the treatment room by the nurses and covered entirely in green surgical cloth except for my face. One of the nurses asked if I’d like to hold her hand whilst they injected my nose. I had discovered during the biopsy that your nose is possibly the most painful place to have an injection and nearly fainted afterwards, so I said ‘yes please’. Both nurses held my hands, one each side of the bed as Dr Phoon injected the anaesthetic, which didn’t hurt nearly as much as last time.
Get to know your skin – develop a habit of checking your skin for new spots and changes to existing moles. It only takes ten minutes once a month and it’s very easy to do – learn how to check for signs of skin cancer using our skin self-examination toolkit https://t.co/eSwOUiZVuI pic.twitter.com/tZH7WLH5zM
— Melanoma UK (@MelanomaUK) July 25, 2022
Then it was time for surgery to begin. ‘Just imagine you are having a facial,’ he said cheerily as he prepared some gauze to place over my eyes. ‘This is the cucumber!’ I burst out laughing. “Now for the face mask,’ he declared as he swabbed me with iodine.
The cut-out cancer was taken to an on-site lab where the skin cells around it were immediately tested to make sure they were cancer free. It’s a treatment which has featured on TV. Once the all-clear was given, a flap of skin in front of my ear was removed to graft onto my nose. Classical music played whilst Dr Phoon and a nurse stitched up the two opposite sides of my face. I felt like one of those characters in a sci-if movie who is being made into a half mechanical cyborg.
Best doctor’s note ever after skin cancer surgery
I was discharged with possibly the best doctor’s note ever: ‘‘relax and watch box sets’. I was also told to keep the fire on: ‘skin grafts like it nice and cosy.’ Gradually, over the following weeks, my spectacular bandages were replaced with weird slimy skin-coloured plasters. I couldn’t face looking in the mirror during this process and the reassuring nurse in my local surgery who changed the dressings looked intrigued rather than horrified.
Eventually the last slimy dressing had to come off and I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I can’t remember that first look, only the fear beforehand. My nose was very ugly and rather bloody. But then something wonderful happened. Gradually, the skin graft turned the right colour and my nose grew back! The stitches on the other side of my face were so delicate that they disappeared without a trace. Now I am left with just a tiny scar on the top of my nostril, a slight discolouration on the tip of my nose, and a faint pink scar by my ear. Even my closest friends don’t notice.
I’ve been meaning to send flowers… or something… to Dr Phoon and his team. I hope recognition in this column will suffice in the meantime. Dr Phoon, I have kept ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos if you need them to reassure other worried patients or to show medical students. You, your team, and the NHS are amazing. And, reader, if you see me out and about, I’ll be happy to show you my NHS ‘facelift’. I’ll be the one in the sun hat.
Eleanor Bradford is a former BBC Scotland Health Correspondent and now works in communications in the education sector
Conversation