Marshall Ramsey

May is Melanoma Awareness Month. Melanoma, which is the most deadly form of skin cancer, is cancer of the melanocytes (what gives you your pigment) — which most of the time, means a mole. If caught early, it is very curable. So your goal is to catch it early. Think of it this way, melanoma like the crack on your windshield. Catch it early, you keep your windshield. Otherwise the crack spreads and, well, not a happy ending.

Here’s what to look for:

If a mole is itching or bleeding, so get it looked at by a dermatologist. If one isn’t available, go to your doctor. If in doubt, check it out.

Also, remember your ABCDEs.

A is for Asymmetry
One half of the spot is unlike the other half.

B is for Border
The spot has an irregular, scalloped, or poorly defined border.

C is for Color
The spot has varying colors from one area to the next, such as shades of tan, brown or black, or areas of white, red, or blue.

D is for Diameter
While melanomas are usually greater than 6 millimeters, or about the size of a pencil eraser, when diagnosed, they can be smaller.

E is for Evolving
The spot looks different from the rest or is changing in size, shape, or color.

Take advantage of skin screenings. If you have someone who can check you out, let them look you over.

This is a subject that is close to my back.

I am a melanoma survivor. Since 2000, I’ve had over 80 moles removed — I look like I fought pirates and lost. Three of the moles were melanomas and one was malignant melanoma, which means it had started to spread. So now, I have a five-inch scar on my back. Yes, the surgery ended my career as an international back model, but I’m grateful to still be here. So my story isn’t one of great struggle — it is one of early detection.

Thank you Kenny Barazza for literally saving my life.

The good news is that science is doing a great job working on a cure. But until that day, get screened and catch anything early.

So get screened — it can save your skin and your life.

The cold darkness fell over the young man as he walked through the woods. The inky blackness of the cold morning smothered him like a wet blanket. Fear and doubt crushed down on his soul as he walked. A lone frog croaked off in the distance — otherwise, the only sound he could hear was the sound of his feet crunching on the gravel road.

“Why, God? Why? Why won’t you heal me?”

The young man started talking aloud, silencing the frog and breaking the morning’s calm. “Why do I hurt? If you were an all-loving God, you’d send me a miracle or at least a sign! Where’s the shooting star? Or even a burning bush! I’d settle for a damn burning bush!”

Hurt, tired and angry, the young man felt gravity pulling him down. Tears started to flow down his cheeks. “Why? Why can’t you give me one miracle.”

Then a slight breeze blew across his face. He stopped and realized he had been given the miracle he so desperately craved.

It was his breath. He took a deep breath. And then another.

Behind him, a meteor burned through the atmosphere. But he missed that. Instead, he just focused on the gift he had been given — the air entering and leaving his lungs.

He was alive. That was enough of a miracle for him.

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.”  1 Corinthians 15:52 ESV

Natalie Perkins was chaperoning a prom on a typical Delta Friday night. Yes, there was severe weather in the forecast, but no alerts had gone off on her phone. Then her phone did ring. A massive EF-4 wedge tornado had struck Rolling Fork, Mississippi, obliterating 85 percent of the town and killing 13. People were trapped in their homes and in businesses. Natalie quickly took off her chaperone hat and put on her emergency management hardhat. Natalie, who’s the assistant director of the Sharkey County Emergency Management Agency, is also the editor of The Deer Creek Pilot, a weekly paper that has long punched above its weight thanks to the late and legendary Ray Mosby. 

I interviewed Natalie the Monday after the storm on the radio. I interviewed her again for Mississippi Stories again two weeks after the storm. That interview is below. She told me that she didn’t know she had the strength until she had to have it. 

She is exhausted, not sleeping and is burning on fumes. But she sure does have strength. 

I don’t say this lightly — the post-storm edition of The Deer Creek Pilotdeserves a Pulitzer Prize. And Natalie deserves a long, relaxing vacation away from her phone (which went off several times while I was interviewing her.) 

There is so much need. 
You can”t fathom the destruction until you see it in person. Seeing it on TV or online is like looking through a toilet paper tube. The storm, which was a mile wide when it hit, scrubbed Rolling Fork off the map. I haven’t seen anything like it since Katrina. As I pulled into town along Hwy 61, I noticed the Sharkey County courthouse. When I was in town a couple days before the storm, you couldn’t see the courthouse from Highway 61. Now, all the homes and trees blocking the view are gone. 

I met Natalie at Bearable Fitness, which is across the street from the now-ruined hospital (a field hospital has been set up north of town.) Bearable is the new Emergency Operating Center — which seems ironically named. I’m not sure anything that has happened the last two weeks is “bearable.”  But that’s Rolling Fork; there are lots of bear references thanks to Teddy Roosevelt not shooting that bear (and the creation of the Teddy Bear.)

In the EOC, there are tables set up in the midst of workout equipment. Box lunches lined the wall and volunteers and management folks from around the country were manning computers and phones. The elephant is getting eaten — one bite at a time. 

The response has been nothing short of breathtaking. Natalie repeatedly expressed her gratefulness for all of the help, from national to state to the volunteers. As I drove around town on the streets that had been cleared, it looked like an army of worker ants clearing debris. MEMA, FEMA, the Mississippi Highway Patrol, the Mississippi Department of Wildlife and Fisheries — there were people there working from all corners of the state and beyond. A team had come in from Florida, a state that knows a lot about recovering from storms. 

What happens when the shiny ball moves on? 
Rolling Fork is a town with such a wonderful and unique history. But it faced struggles even before the storm. The economy was just getting back on its feet after the South Delta floods. “Some people say they aren’t going to build back,” she told me. I would understand why not — I can’t imagine the amount of trauma that the residents have to unpack. This recovery won’t happen overnight. But one thing I do know about Delta residents is that they are strong. Strong like Natalie. 

Rolling Fork will rise again. 

Growing up, my church didn’t make a big deal about Good Friday. It always seemed like something only my Catholic friends talked about. The best of my recollection, my opinion of it was that it probably had the worst name of all time. It’s almost like “half marathon.” The name doesn’t really capture the pain of the moment. 

I’ve been slogging through earthly matters the last few weeks and haven’t had much time to engage in Lent or even Holy Week. A couple of thoughts hit me this morning while driving my son to school. 

Now that I’m older — much, much older — I understand the importance of Good Friday. While I love Easter with its hope and promise, I know that without the tragedy of Friday, Sunday’s meaning would ring hollow. For many years, I spent much of my life trying to avoid pain. And while I don’t seek it, I now know that embracing and working through it provides context to joy. You can’t self-medicate yourself to happiness. Fear, sadness and hopelessness have to be confronted head-on with love. That’s what Jesus did on Friday. And Sunday was the result. 

Go forward today and tack into the wind. Live in the moment and face your fears head on with love. And may you and your family have a blessed Easter weekend.