Mountains Out of Mole-hills

So the mole isn't cancerous.  I was really hoping they could take a biopsy without taking the whole thing.  

But it all happened so fast.  I didn't know I was agreeing to remove it all.  And now it's gone.  And it feels weird, the new skin is growing in tight and bothers me when I turn my head or lie on it or have a collar that touches it.

I am actually saddened by the loss of this little thing.  I know my response is pathetic.  I have a friend who just lost the very little bit of vision she had left by trying out a surgery that was nearly guaranteed to help her blindness.  And I just, I can't even imagine.  I love my senses, because they help me love life, even when circumstances are shitty.  On the worst day, I can see the color of a leaf or sky, hear these leaves rustle in the wind and I am happy.  I can feel the smooth thin petal of a rose between my fingers and roll it into a ball between my palms and smell it on my hands, put the petal ball in my mouth and taste its sweetness, its acidity.  My friend is heroic everyday, at least to me.  

So this silly mole.  The thing that makes me sad is I never knew it.  I only noticed it a few months back and it was much larger than any others that I did recognize on my body.  It was on the back of my neck to the left of my nape.  If it was truly new, I'd be OK getting rid of it because it was an evolution, new growth.  But if it was there my whole life, I will be sad to have so hastily rid myself of it, because it was part of me--holy.  

I can't even imagine an amputation or a mastectomy.  What a baby I am.  Actually I understand something like a removal that is necessary.  But preventative removal?  Not sure.  

All I can think is maybe that mole was there during my wedding pictures--the only pictures I think I have of shots of the back of my head.  Noa didn't seem to recognize it as part of me, so that was slightly encouraging that it might be new. But not much as he is bad at recognizing detail.

It just raises this issue of not knowing myself.  Really not knowing myself.  Like not recognizing my own body and its physical parts. 

Also, the haste that occurred in removing it was reminiscent of that half-understanding, half-awareness I had the first time I chose to have sex.  Reluctant, but urgent.  I was leaving the country that afternoon and this was likely the last time we would see each other, whatever that meant.  Half of my mind had to go somewhere else in order to belay the immediate regrets during it, half of my mind was watching from above us in curious shock of what it really looked like to do this.  I would take that morning back if I could, because I lacked full confidence in my decision and also because I wish I could have shared the moment of innocence with Noa (though it pretty much felt new with Noa since 5 minutes of dissociative sex, far away in Africa, in my mind, did not feel like I had de-virgined myself).

But the thing was gone, and this thing is gone.  Both hurt somewhat, both physically and symbolically, but soon I will forget both to the point of a foggy memory. 

So someday, when my daughter asks, I will be honest.  Because it’s not fair to pretend life is easier than it is—that is no preparation for what life is like.

The idea of a easylife brings me to one more topic.  I don’t think I deserve the simplicity of Noa.  He just loves.  He just does things.  He does think through things like card games or chess, loves to strategize and learn battle techniques in that way, how to master movements.  But with life, real life—not abstract games?  He just does, just acts.  He just sees what is there.  The shape.  The outline of blank space.  The values.  He categorizes, figures out patterns and sticks to them.  Schemas are his good friends.

And I don’t know how to let any of me out in that situation.  But the truth is, I never could zip down and open up and bubble out—to anyone, because it is too much, and too garbled to make sense of anyhow.  So what is the point?

I map the overflow (I don’t plan on unzipping fully maybe ever) out here.  Each word is a dot, a wave pattern, a longitude or latitude.  Maybe someday I can read this all and actually see a shape, a terrain of mountains and oceans, cities and roads.

Goodbye mole.  Thank you God for making me beautiful.  Sorry I wreck it sometimes, and without enough thought until hindsight.  I'm certain, despite my unawareness, that it was lovely.