About Me
My name is Sasha and I'm 24 years old. In February 2015, I was diagnosed with stage IIIc melanoma, an aggressive skin cancer. Having such fair skin I have always known to be cautious of something like this, I just never imagined that I would be dealing with it at such a young age. It all started with a spot I found on the back of my head that had itched from time to time. If anything, I thought that maybe a mole got nicked by a comb at the salon or hair bleach was irritating it, but the itching never went away. Those occasional itches turned into frequent shooting pains. My body was letting me know that something wasn't right. As far as we know, no one in my family has had a history of melanoma. I almost always wear a hat to the beach or pool. I'm also pretty diligent about applying sunscreen. The diagnosis didn't make any sense.
Throughout this time, I've been fairly private with everything, especially when it comes to social media. If I happen to post a picture, you better believe my scar is concealed. Until this battle is won, I cannot be proud of my scar. In the meantime, my scar is just a reminder that since that February day, I have lived every moment in fear. Fear of what bad news I will get next or how much longer I have before this disease claims my life. No matter how much you try to block out these preconceived notions in your head, you can't help but have them. This scar is a reminder that all my parents can seem to think about is my cancer. It's a reminder that my day revolves getting rid of this damn disease. Between the doctor appointments, PET scans, MRIs, blood work, treatments, and physical therapy, having cancer has become a full-time job.
I was undergoing daily IV treatments when my dermatologist asked me to write an anonymous account of my diagnosis to include in the office's monthly newsletter. In my most recent visit there, I learned that following the newsletter, the dermatology office received the highest volume of calls for skin checks that they had ever had. As difficult as it is for me to share these details, I figure perhaps some good can come out of. Like many others, I once had the perception that something like this only happened to older, sick people not someone young and relatively healthy like me. I exercised almost every day and watched what I ate (to some extent, but a girl can enjoy some deep dish pizza every now and then). I was invincible until I wasn't. All I can hope for is that by continuing to share my story, others begin taking necessary precautions and get checked out early enough to avoid ever having to go through this too.
Throughout this time, I've been fairly private with everything, especially when it comes to social media. If I happen to post a picture, you better believe my scar is concealed. Until this battle is won, I cannot be proud of my scar. In the meantime, my scar is just a reminder that since that February day, I have lived every moment in fear. Fear of what bad news I will get next or how much longer I have before this disease claims my life. No matter how much you try to block out these preconceived notions in your head, you can't help but have them. This scar is a reminder that all my parents can seem to think about is my cancer. It's a reminder that my day revolves getting rid of this damn disease. Between the doctor appointments, PET scans, MRIs, blood work, treatments, and physical therapy, having cancer has become a full-time job.
I was undergoing daily IV treatments when my dermatologist asked me to write an anonymous account of my diagnosis to include in the office's monthly newsletter. In my most recent visit there, I learned that following the newsletter, the dermatology office received the highest volume of calls for skin checks that they had ever had. As difficult as it is for me to share these details, I figure perhaps some good can come out of. Like many others, I once had the perception that something like this only happened to older, sick people not someone young and relatively healthy like me. I exercised almost every day and watched what I ate (to some extent, but a girl can enjoy some deep dish pizza every now and then). I was invincible until I wasn't. All I can hope for is that by continuing to share my story, others begin taking necessary precautions and get checked out early enough to avoid ever having to go through this too.