Laughing at the Shark

On April 19, 2001, I had surgery for a malignant melanoma. Melanoma is a very aggressive and deadly form of skin cancer and doctors don’t play around with it. I was diagnosed on the 17th and was on the table two days later. My surgeon cut out the area around my primary lesion (Image having a ice cream scoop of your back removed) plus removed eight other moles. I had a Sentinel Node Biopsy (to make sure no melanoma cells had spread to my lymph system), so I had a shaved armpit and a scar under my arm, too. I looked like I had run naked through a briar patch.

By summer, my scars on the outside were healing slowly. The scars on the inside, however, burned hot and continued to be painful. And I think my family sensed that. We decided to go on a family trip to Destin, Florida.

Yes, I had the deadliest form of skin cancer and I was going to the beach.

There are cheaper ways to kill me than a condo on the beach.

I avoid the sun from the hours of 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. That’s when the sun’s rays are the strongest and since I am like a fork in the microwave, I stay inside. I don’t want to hear small children cry,”Mommy, why is that really white man bursting into flames?” So I sat inside and watched daytime TV.

About six that evening, I decided I wanted to go for a swim. I took my shirt off and ran into the surf. The warm gulf waters felt good on my scars. Then I noticed her. She must have been about my age and had two daughters playing nearby in the surf. All three stared at my scars like I was the freak of the week. I felt very self-conscious. And I started to get annoyed.

I looked her in the eye and she quickly looked away. She had been busted.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s alright,” I said while pointing to my biggest scar. “It was a shark attack. And it happened right where your daughters are swimming.”

She scooped up her kids and ran out of the water. My wife, who was nearby, was looking at me like I was going to burn in Hades.

I had two choices: I could have been angry or I could have told a joke. I chose humor. And I have been choosing humor for 14 years now.

I think that was the very moment my inside scars started to heal. That was when I started laughing at the very thing that scared (and scarred) me most.

Life is scary. But it also amazing and at times hilarious. I choose humor. And I will keep telling my jokes during tough times until the day I die. I will keep laughing at the shark.