When ninjas attack!

Have I ever told you about the time I was caught in the middle of a ninja attack? No? Oh, well, let me tell you. You see, a few months ago I was walking down the street, doing some Christmas shopping, shopping bags in both hands. I was walking down the sidewalk of an outdoor shopping center, humming along to the Christmas music being piped up and down the street, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a ninja jumped down from an overhang over the door of GAP and landed silently right in front of me. I gasped in surprise...because ninjas are nothing if not surprising. But even with his mask on, I could tell his eyes were fixed on something behind me. So I spun around. Sure enough, another ninja had landed behind me. Suddenly they materialized - six ninjas - all around me. It was three against three and I was caught in the middle. Before I knew it throwing stars were whizzing all around me. Despite my efforts to get out of there by shrieking and running, I was grazed in the shoulder by a throwing star. It slashed right through my winter coat as it whizzed by. Here is the photographic evidence of being caught in the middle of a ninja attack.

Scar from Christmas ninja attack!

Oh, alright. You got me. You're too smart to fool. I wasn't really caught in a ninja attack. My scar is not from being grazed by a throwing star. It's from having skin cancer removed. Not even remotely as interesting as my made up story, but here's the REAL story of my scar.

Quite some time ago (a couple of years ago?) I had a mysterious red spot a little smaller than the size of a dime show up on my shoulder. I didn't ever really hurt. It itched some times, but it never changed shape, size, or color. So I just lived with it. Until I got engaged. I did not want this red circle showing up in all of my photos of me in my wedding dress. So a couple of weeks before the wedding I finally went to the doctor about it to see if I could get some sort of cream or something to make it disappear. The doctor had to scrape some of the skin away to send it to the lab (which made the spot way more red and showed up even MORE in the photos...the opposite of what I was trying to achieve). She didn't know what in the world it was. She gave me a prescription cream and told me if it didn't go away in a couple of weeks I would have to come back in to get a biopsy.

Well, the wedding came and went and our new life started. And that stinkin' little spot didn't change one bit. I kind of put off going back for a biopsy, until I knew that if I waited much longer my doctor was going to yell at me (not really) for not getting back in. So, I finally made an appointment in December. I went in and my doctor kind of took a "punch" of my shoulder, threw whatever she got into a vile, put a couple of stitches in, slapped a band-aid on it and told me she'd let me know what the lab found.

It was a Tuesday night. My husband and I had just left his brother's house after having our weekly pizza night with his family. I was just pulling out of their neighborhood when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number but it had the local area code, so I answered it. It was my doctor. She was calling me from her home. "Melissa, I just got the lab results back from your biopsy. Unfortunately, it is skin cancer. But the good news is that it is basal-cell carcinoma which is the most common form of skin cancer and is easiest to treat." I took a deep breath and said, "Okay, what do we do?" (At this point my husband, although sitting right next to me, had no idea who was on the phone or what we were talking about.) She said, "We have to cut it out of the skin. And once we cut it out, it's gone. It won't come back, it won't spread. Basically if you have to get skin cancer, this is the best kind to get." I told her I had an appointment the next morning for her to take out the couple of stitches from the biopsy. She told me we could do the procedure right there in the clinic, at my current appointment time. I hung up and tried to say to my husband, "That was my doctor. I have skin cancer," without crying. I did not succeed.

When we got home we got on our phones to call our families. I called my sister's house but she wasn't there, so I spoke with my brother-in-law and told him what was going on. He said he would tell her to call me when she got home. When she called me, I assumed that her husband told her what was going on. After I said hello, I said in my very best Eeyore voice I could muster, "I have skin cancer." She yelled, "What?" Then I started giggling. "Jer didn't tell you?" She said, "No! What's going on?" "Oh," I said. "That spot on my shoulder? I found out tonight it's skin cancer." I giggled some more as I said it. "Why are you laughing?" she asked. "I don't know. Because that's how I deal with stuff. I giggle even when I don't know why I'm giggling." She should know by now that it's just a natural reflex for me and I've done it our entire lives. I can't help it. So, just our family and a few close friends that I texted knew what was going on. We just put out a few calls for prayer and kept it mostly to ourselves.

That night I didn't sleep very well. I couldn't stop crying. Not the hysterical, "My life is over," kind of crying. Just frequent, "I'm scared and I don't like this...what's going to happen?" kind of weeping. My poor husband. His wife of three months was having a hard time dealing and he had to lay next to a sniveling, wet mess.

The next morning my husband and I went in to get my skin cancer removed. It was December twenty-first. It took the doctor about an hour to numb me up with some shots, remove three different areas of skin, and stitch me up. There were two not-so-fun moments during the whole ordeal. The first was the four shots I had to get in my shoulder, around the area, to numb me up. Now, needles themselves...never really bothered me. But the ph balance of what she used caused it to really sting as it entered my blood stream. It felt like one really long bee sting. Four times.

The second not-so-fun moment was when she was actually cutting the cancer out with her snipping shears (not a medical term...my term). It was on my shoulder, which means it was next to my ear. It sounded awful. I cringed and told her the sound was disturbing. So to cover up the sound, my doctor started singing a Christmas carol. She better stick to doctoring people because an American Idol she is not.

I ended up getting two layers of stitches. Seven of them up on top. She gave me a prescription for pain meds. I headed to work and my husband headed to the pharmacy for me. That night I got home from work, changed the dressing on my shoulder, changed clothes (nothing I could pull over my head because I had very limited range of motion) and we headed out to have dinner with friends. Dinner went well...I didn't even tell them what happened earlier in the day...and we headed back home. I was bleeding quite a bit so I needed to change the dressing again before I went to bed. And that's when I noticed it. I could see only five stitches and the top of my wound was open. Great. Now what do we do? After a little discussing and being on hold for a long time with the ER, we decided to go into the ER. I knew I wouldn't sleep well with an open wound and I wanted that sucker closed up so the scaring would be a minimum.(Joke was on me!)

After just about an hour in the ER, I was sent home with just butterfly strips over my missing stitches. (They had come out when I had changed the dressing...stuff was sticking to that gauze. Gross.) The ER doc assured me the strips would hold and I didn't need new stitches. I was not a very happy camper at this stage of the game. And it was nearing midnight after a very long day.

Christmas came and went and the only thing I had to worry about was telling people not to touch my left side when they hugged me. Lots of hugging was going on...we saw a lot of family.

One week later I had an appointment to get my stitches (or what was left) out. At this point, the way this was all supposed to go down, was that this cancer would cause me to go to the doctor twice. Once to get it removed, once to get my stitches out. End of story. Except...not. A couple of days before my appointment to get the stitches out, my doctor called. "I have some not so great news. The lab reports came back and they're saying that I didn't get all of the cancer." "What does that mean?" I asked. "It means I have to remove more skin." I was waiting for the "April Fools!" but seeing how it was the end of December and not April first, she didn't say that. "Okay, so is it better to wait until I'm all healed up or is it better to do it right away again?" She said to get it done as soon as possible. I told her I had an appointment with her later that week. So we decided to do round two then. My doctor apologized and said she was so certain she got it all. She couldn't understand how she had missed any and she wasn't understanding the lab results...she was going to have to call them because she couldn't tell if she didn't go deep enough or wide enough. She said she would understand if I wanted another doctor to do the procedure. I told her that no, she knew the history and we had come this far. I was sticking with her.

It was at this point that I fell apart. I was so mad. I had a major meltdown because I was so rattled by the whole experience. I told my husband that I felt I was failing as a wife, that I wasn't sure why I felt like I was letting everyone down so much lately. I felt like I couldn't do anything right and I was so unreasonably upset by things that had nothing to do with my health. Later, looking back, I realized that Satan was using my weakness of fear and attacking it full-on. I hadn't been diligent in reading my Bible on a regular basis for a few weeks and my spiritual armor was down. I was easily susceptible to believing Satan's lies. I mean, the wheels fell off. I have never felt or acted like that before. I could not pull myself together. Again, my poor husband. He had to put up with a lot those few days. I was so mad at everything - mad at my doctor, mad at the lab, mad that I felt I could never wear a sleeveless shirt again, mad at the sun for causing this whole spiral, mad that I was mad.

A few days later we went in for round two. It was January second and this time I had the day off. We went through the whole thing again...the numbing shots, the cutting, the bandaging. This time I got twelve stitches on my shoulder. I'll spare you the details. I also got a small spot removed off of my back that the doctor had found when giving me a once over. That required only two stitches. After the final carving was finished, we went out to eat at Applebees, but the rest of the day I was wiped out. We went over to his parents' house that night to watch the Badgers play in the Rosebowl. My parents were there too. I slept through most of the evening in a chair. The next several days I wore the exact same zip-up hoodie to work because I could barely move my arm. I wanted to sleep on my left side in the worst way but that was a long way off.

Over a week later I went back in for the FINAL TIME. Oh my word.
What was supposed to be this:
1. get the cancer removed
2. go back in to get stitches removed & have less than an inch scar
-turned into this:
1. get cancer removed
2. go to the ER
3. go to get stitches removed so MORE of my shoulder can be carved up a second time (and basically doubling the size of my scar)
4. go back in to get the stitches removed & have an inch and a half scar

I was finally on step number 4. And it was then that my doctor told me the second set of lab results came back. You know, the ones we had to do because the lab said she didn't get it all the first time. Well, surprise, surprise, the second set of labs came back as "no cancer - scar tissue only was detected." My doc said, "I KNEW I got it all the first time. Those (insert word here that rhymes with dastberds)."

So, the second "carving" (as I like to call it) was completely unnecessary. When the dust settled, the entire ordeal from start to finish cost $6487.90. At least from what I can tell from all of the paperwork. I'm still fighting the second lab bill since they screwed up.

And it looks like it's the pale life for me. Heavy sunscreen and lots of shade for the rest of my life. Sun exposure is a big risk for me now and I'm not going through all of that rig-a-rah-mole again! Occasionally my shoulder still hurts and it itches A LOT. But I'm fine now.

I leave you with some fun facts about basal-cell carcinoma. Because knowledge is half the battle in preventing, people!

Basal-cell cancer is the most common skin cancer. It is much more common in fair-skinned individuals (raising hand).

Statistically, approximately 3 out of 10 Caucasians may develop a basal-cell cancer within their lifetime.

In 80 percent of all cases, basal-cell cancers are found on the head and neck.

Six months of being Mrs. Meyer

Six months ago today was the greatest day of my life (so far). I married the most wonderful man I've ever met. It still astonishes me that he chose me as his wife. In honor of six months of marriage, here is my list of my six favorite things about being married to Chip.

Presenting Mr. & Mrs. Meyer

1. Although the wait was long, the payoff was huge. I spent a long time waiting for God to unfold His plan for me. During that long, long, long, long waiting time, I did not just sit at home - I went out and lived life, with the full confidence and faith that eventually God would connect me to my husband. Because of that faith, I refused to compromise my standards. I went a couple of long stretches of time not only being single, but I went a long time without even one date. I once had a friend ask me, "Don't you want to go out on a date, just for the sake of going out with a guy, no matter who it is?" I told her it was quite the opposite. The longer I had to wait on God, the more my standards were raised. If I had to wait to date someone, when it finally happened, it was going to be a quality person. Not just any shmoe would do. As difficult and lonely as those single years were, Chip was definitely worth the wait. Those years gave me time to work on the woman I've become today, to work on domestic skills, to pray for my future husband...to see all that come to fruition causes me to absolutely love being a wife.

Chip's 36th b-day

2. A new name! And a new family to come along with that name! I am so proud to be a Meyer. And I have wonderful in-laws.

Attending a wedding 2 weeks after ours

3. I remember one Sunday very specifically about nine years ago. I went to church, by myself, and the pastor was doing a series on marriage. I hated those sermon series when they would do that, because it sooooo didn't apply to me. Marriages are very important and a lot of people need help navigating them, I totally get that. So, I find it very appropriate, of course, for the church to address a lot of topics about marriage. But what the church does not do is address singleness much. Singleness is rarely celebrated in the church body. Because singles are usually the minority. Anyway, at this particular point in time, I was a bit low over being single (still). So, there I sat. Listening to a sermon on marriage. Sitting by myself, with an empty chair on each side. Sitting in the row ahead of me was a family. A mom, a dad. A preteen daughter. An elementary aged son. And a preschool boy, who sat on his sister's lap. A beautiful family. And at one point, the dad put his arm around the mom. He was wearing a watch and a short sleeve shirt. And seeing that watch, such a "manly" object, move to show affection to the wife, just struck me. I sat there, tears rolling down my face. I wanted an arm with a watch around the wrist, to wrap around me. It was a moment I'll never forget. And now that I'm married, I appreciate so much the small tokens around the house that show that I live with a man. Chip's wedding ring on his night stand, his electric razor plugged into the power strip on my side of the bed as he charges it before he packs and leaves on a work trip, his plastic Wisconsin Badger cup that sits on the bookshelf next to his spot on the couch - always filled with water for him to sip as he watches TV, a pair of men's boots by the door from the house to the garage. My husband is a very tidy person. So he doesn't leave much of a trail behind him wherever he goes. But having these few items around the house often make me smile because it makes me appreciate the fact that I now have an arm with a watch around the wrist to be wrapped around me. And it reminds me that God is faithful.



First Christmas as Mr. & Mrs.


4. The kind of texts you only get when you live with the one you love. Things like, "Can you pick up some milk at the store today?" "Turn the crockpot on at 9 am." "Don't feed the cat when you get home...I already fed him." "I'll be home around 6:00." "I sent out Valentine's cards to all the nieces and nephews." After years of living alone, it's so awesome to have someone to "do" life with. Even the mundane things. Whenever I send or receive one of these texts, it reminds me that I am serving my husband and I am married to someone who equally serves me. And, we make a good team! We can get a lot done between the two of us!

Flowers on our 1 month anniversary

5. Laughs, laughs, and more laughs. No one keeps me laughing like my husband. He is one funny guy, most of his humor comes off the cuff. One of my favorite laughs came a few weeks ago. My winter coat was really grungy with dirty cuffs and collar. I had told Chip I was going to get it dry cleaned once the weather warmed up. We were in the grocery store on an unusually warm day in January and I knew if I went out without my coat, I wouldn't be a popsicle by the time I got to the car. As we were walking by the service desk at the grocery store, it hit me that it would be the perfect time to drop off my coat. I stopped and said, "I'm going to leave my coat to be dry cleaned right now," and proceeded to take it off quickly, fill out the slip, and drop it in the bag. Chip looked at me and said, "I'm glad you didn't decide your pants needed dry cleaning!" I laughed all the way to the car.

Our verson of "American Gothic" on our wedding day

6. The different ways he lets me know he loves me. Whether it's in words or actions, I appreciate the fact that this man chose me and loves me. He is a wonderful husband and I adore being his wife. Not that there hasn't been a learning curve in living together...we are two quirky people...we see things in different ways...we don't always understand one another...but even with a little bit of natural conflict, I still have loved every day of being his wife.

My heart was captured...twice in one day

Even though it was many years ago, I remember it so clearly. I was working at my office at Interim HealthCare in St. Paul. My sister had an ultrasound that day and her hubby went along to the appointment. I was sitting at my desk when she called. For whatever reason, when I answered the phone, I stood up and was leaning against my desk. I shared an office with my co-worker, Gretchen, and our desks were right next to one another. So we could always hear every word of one another's phone conversations. I remember my sister saying, "Well, there's a reason I'm so big already. We're having twins." I responded with, "Gretchen! My sister is having twins!" And I immediately got choked up. TWINS! Two for the price of one. Oh, man.

While my sister was pregnant, they found out it was two boys. My sister grew. And grew. And grew. I couldn't believe how much her stomach stretched. It looked like she had swallowed a beach ball. She looked uncomfortable all the time but she never had to go on bed rest. Which was good because she had a 19-month old to tend to.

And then, they were here. My sister went in for a scheduled c-section. My mom stayed at their house with their toddler. I waited and waited for the phone call to come while I was at work. I got nothing done that day. Then finally, around 11:00 the call came. My mom said I had two new nephews, born around 10 am. Quitting time couldn't come fast enough that day. I went straight to the hospital after work to see my healthy nephews. For twins, they were not scrawny. My sister had 13 pounds of baby in her!

And now, those two little guys turn six-years-old today. I know there have been many challenging days for their parents in the last six years, but no one would trade these boys for anything. They wrestle, are loud, demand a lot of care, yell at one another, and don't always follow directions at home. But they are also so loving to their little sister, watch out for one another, laugh together, play together, and have captured the hearts of so many. This auntie included.

Sam, you are loud. You always have been. I remember holding you on my shoulder as an infant and you cried so loud I thought my ear was going to start ringing. You have quite the set of lungs. And even though you are sometimes loud, you can also be quite tender. You are your mom's biggest helper, always willing to pitch in. Sometimes you think you run the show and things have to be done your way. But that's just you being a kid with leadership abilities that haven't matured yet. You are going to be quite the leader some day. One of my favorite things is when you cut loose and get silly. You love to laugh and have a good time. You can also put on quite the scowl and we have said, "He is such a crank," more than one time. You are cranky sometimes. It's like an old man lives inside of your little boy body. When you were a toddler you would say, "Sometimes I'm Good Sammy and sometimes I'm Bad Sammy." You do well at school and are so smart. You are inquisitive, ask good questions, try and understand everything going on around you and are very sharp when it comes to figuring out what's going on around you. I love when you sing, I love when you are willing to snuggle, and I love that you never call me by my full name. Just "Melis." Every time.

Jack, you are a one-of-a-kind kid. The first day you were brought home from the hospital I noticed a little bump on your earlobe that's still there to this day. I love it that I noticed it first...probably because I studied you and your brother quite a bit when you were new babies. You have always been so laid back. Quite different from your twin. When you were a baby, the back of your head was flat, so you had to wear a special helmet to shape your head. You didn't mind that thing one bit. You were just as happy as could be. You are the kid who is everyone's friend. You are very good at making friends, and tend to seek out kids who may have a harder time making friends. You like to have a good time. And ever since you were a baby, you were kind of in your own world. In la-la land, just having fun as you learned about life. You are the kid who hates kisses and refuses to give or receive them. If someone sneaks a kiss on you without your permission you are so proud to say, "I wiped it off!" You also do well in school and a lot of classmates are naturally drawn to you. I love when you joke around with me, I love when you give me big hugs, and I love all of the questions you ask.

It has been quite the treat to have a front row seat to see you boys grow into the kindgergartners that you are now. I know that I will turn around and you will be graduating high school. Just thinking about the men you will become causes me to get a little teary-eyed because I'm already so proud of both of you.

I love you, Sam and Jack! Happy Birthday to my special boys!


"Hmmm...what's for lunch?" One day I found Jack like this.



Jack as a toddler



The day Jack got his training wheels removed



With Jack on his 2nd birthday

Sammy used to play in this Cozy Coupe all the time. In fact, they had to get 2 because he was so insistent this car was his only. He called it his "Tozy Toop."

Sammy's spag face

Kisses from my Sammy

Sammy, four-years-old. Sleep-over at my house.

Bundled up together at the Amery Fall Festival. 2010

Sam at the apple orchard

Silly face with Jack. Four-years-old

The twins as toddlers. Someday they will hate me for this photo.

Moo cow

Growing up in rural Wisconsin I've had more than my fair share of time spent around cows. Dairy farms dotted the landscape around my hometown and a lot of my friends grew up on family farms. My dad even ran a farm for a while through his farm machinery dealership. But no farm experience can top my run in with The Cow. Ironically enough I wasn't on a farm when I met The Cow. I was, unfortunately, in a car with my friend, Sarah. And we were seventeen.

My friend, Sarah, had a mother who was an EMT. Her mom had seen a lot of car accidents, so Sarah was the most cautious driver of all my teenage friends because she had heard the results of reckless driving firsthand. Sarah's car didn't budge until everyone was buckled in. No exceptions. Sarah never sped. It was as though her car was incapable of getting over the fifty-five mph mark. That red dash was magical in that the speedometer needle couldn't break its barrier. So when riding with Sarah, one felt very safe.

One Spring evening, just as dusk was beginning to make an appearance, Sarah and I were on a back country road, headed to the next town over to get some ice cream at the Dairy Queen. We were coming from a classmate's birthday party and we were having a great time...laughing, talking, and enjoying the freedom of being able to go for ice cream on a whim. The sky was clear, the weather was warm and our windows were down.We came up over a hill, Sarah doing the usual fifty-five. At the bottom of the small hill a rather large Holstein appeared out of nowhere. Now, I realize that cows aren't the sleekest or fastest moving creatures. It's not like they're deer. Let's just call a spade a spade. But this cow had incredible leaping abilities. I have suspicion that it was related to the one that went over the moon. It jumped out from behind some overgrown brush that was growing right at the side of the road. I braced myself by extending my arms and grabbing onto the dashboard and I think I yelled, "Cow!" What happened next seems like it was in slow motion, like in the movies.

Sarah hit the brake but didn't stand on it like I would have. It seemed like we slowed down very gradually, as if she were approaching a far off stop sign. It felt like we were taking forever to stop. I could have done my nails or watched an episode of "Growing Pains" in the time it took to slow down. I remember thinking, "Hurry up and slow down! Hurry up and slow down!" We were probably going about 15 mph when we came into contact with The Cow. If I had been driving, there would have been rubber on the road and we would have been completely stopped before we got to The Cow. But I wasn't driving.

We pretty much clipped The Cow's legs out from under her, on my side of the car. The Cow slid on her side going across the hood, her face right in front of the windshield. This part was all in slow motion as well. I swear I locked eyes with that cow. She was looking at me out of the corner of one eye and it followed me as she slid by. She was scared. Fear was in her big, brown eye. The only thing I could think was, "This cow is coming right through the windshield and it's going to be on my lap. It's going to be heavy and it's going to hurt me." That's what went through my mind in that split second. I did not want a heavy and wounded (possibly dead) animal anywhere near me. I didn't care how much free beef I might get out of the deal.

The Cow slid off Sarah's side of the car. The old girl landed on her side with a spectacular thud and then clumsily got up in a hurry as though she were a college student walking on an icy sidewalk and quickly stood - hoping no one saw her go down. The Cow was a bit dazed and staggered a bit. But she quickly recovered and kind of trotted up into the yard across the road to join the rest of the herd that had escaped the same pasture. It was getting dark and the yard light had just flickered on. It was illuminating several cows standing around in the yard.

Sarah and I just looked at each other in awe. In a matter of seconds we had gone from driving with the windows down and the radio cranked and the two of us talking loudly to complete silence. The car had killed. Sarah turned the key and nothing happened. Panic showed up for a split second and Sarah tried again. No dice. Then Sarah remembered the car wasn't in park. It had killed while in drive. She put the gear into park and tried again. The car started up and panic scampered away. We sat there, idling in the car, in the middle of the road, at the bottom of a hill, while it was getting dark. Not the smartest thing we've ever done but we didn't exactly have our wits about us yet. Going forward had not occurred to us yet. We were still stunned. I think the first thing Sarah said was, "I need to call my dad." I suggested we drive to my grandparents' house who lived in the town we were headed to. But Sarah wanted to go to her ex-boyfriend's house. She had dated him a while ago but I think she was wanting to see him again. What better excuse to show up at his house than to use his phone? She put the car in drive and insisted we go to his house.

It just so happened that the ex-boyfriend was having a party that night with a live band in the garage and everything. There were cars and kids all over the place. I didn't know any of them. I really don't think I could have been more embarrassed. I felt like without us saying a word, everyone could see the story on our faces...we had just hit The Cow and needed help. We were not there to party, but rather to be rescued by Sarah's dad.

Sarah's dad called the cops from his house to report the incident, then he drove over to the town we were in and we followed him home in Sarah's car. Almost an hour after the impact we finally got to Sarah's house. When her mom asked, "Girls, what happened?" we both burst into tears. Talk about a delayed reaction! Sarah's mom asked, "Why are you crying?" "We don't know!" we wailed.

Later we found out that we were the third car to hit a cow in that area in the past few months. The farmer had trouble keeping his fence mended. The Cow was okay and unbelievably the only damage to Sarah's car were streaks of manure across the white hood from the manure-caked-sliding hooves. Not a dent or a scratch.

And we never did get our Dairy Queen ice cream that night. But did we ever get a story. It didn't take long for our adventure to spread around school and we got a lot of laughs out of telling it. And twenty years later, it still comes up from time to time.

Moo cow.