I recently went in for my annual skin cancer screening, and unfortunately left feeling deeply upset…read moreby the experience.
During the examination, JoAnn Lepke found a scabby area on my scalp that she said was precancerous. She told me she would freeze it and asked if that was okay. I have had small spots frozen in the past, so I agreed, expecting something similar.
Once she began, however, the treatment seemed much more extensive than what I had experienced before and even became painful. As I instinctively pulled away, she explained that the area was not very wide but was approximately an inch long. This was the first time I understood the size of the area on the top of my head that was being treated.
I became concerned and asked whether my hair would fall out in that area. She said "possibly." I then asked whether it would grow back, and she replied, "probably."
Those answers were frightening. Had I understood beforehand the size of the area being treated and that hair loss was a possibility, I would at least have had an opportunity to ask questions and understand what was about to be done before agreeing to it.
What upset me most, however, was what happened when it became apparent that I was scared. Rather than taking a moment to acknowledge my concern or explain things more fully, I was told, essentially, that this was better than having surgery, a scar (isn't a hairless patch on your head a scar as well?), or cancer. While I certainly understand the importance of treating precancerous lesions, that response felt dismissive and condescending at a moment when I was genuinely frightened.
Hair plays an enormous emotional and psychological role in how a woman feels about herself. Being suddenly told, during a procedure already underway, that I might lose hair from a noticeable area on the top of my head--and that it would "probably" grow back--was extremely upsetting. I did not need my concerns minimized. I needed information and a little compassion.
I am not writing this because I object to receiving necessary medical treatment. I am writing because patients deserve to understand what is being done to their bodies, including meaningful potential consequences, before a procedure begins. And when a patient becomes frightened, especially during something as inherently stressful as skin cancer screening, compassion matters.
A few extra minutes of explanation, reassurance, and empathy would have made an enormous difference. Instead, I left an appointment that was supposed to protect my health feeling scared, uninformed, and emotionally shaken. I sincerely hope greater care is taken in the future to make sure patients feel informed, heard, and treated with compassion.
