I had this mark on my ear. It was almost like a splash of you know what on the back and edge of my ear. It’s been there forever. Once or twice, friends have said to me: “There’s a bit of dirt on your ear.” To which I’d reply: “That’s just a mark that’s always been there.”

Over the winter, out of the blue, Tim said: “I’m not too happy about that mark on your ear. Would you mind showing it to the doctor the next time you’re over, I think it has darkened?”

Over the next while, Tim mentioned it a couple of times. He was a bit insistent, so I showed it to my doctor and asked for a referral. She promised to write a letter for me. Another month or two passed and the letter hadn’t arrived. Tim nagged again. To satisfy him, I rang the secretary and reminded her about the letter. The following day, I picked up the letter from reception. I made a phone call to the consultant plastic surgeon and the appointment was made.

When I went in, he made light of it but said when someone notices a change or darkening of a mole or mark on the skin, one should always take it seriously. The appointment to have it removed was made. It would be done under local anaesthetic in Cork the following week.

It was a surreal experience putting myself forward for the mini surgery. The banter among the staff was interesting – about holidays and too much sun and so on. I went off on my own holidays in August.

A shock

I returned for my check-up. I hadn’t managed to sit down before my consultant said: “We’re talking melanoma here! How did you come to have it removed?”

I explained about Tim.

“Well, you can thank your husband for saving your life!”

He went on to say that if it was six months longer, he could well be giving me a life expectancy diagnosis of six months to two years. I can’t explain the level of shock I felt. Not in my wildest dreams had I given thought to this scenario.

I sat there paralysed, listening but not listening. My mind was racing. I thought: “I want to see my grandchildren. That would mean I could only rear two more seasons of calves.”

Imagine thinking of calves! Nothing was rational. Chatting with Colm sometime later and telling him about the calves, he said: “As farmers, mom, that’s how we measure time – in seasons.”

The consultant assured me that it had been got in time and hadn’t breached the membrane. It was a melanoma in situ, lentigo maligna, extending to the peripheral margin etc.

I tried to write it down but was unable to write. I was stunned at my inability to cope. The bad news was that he’d have to do more surgery on the ear.

That was the least of my problems. I just wanted it gone. I went out to the car. Then I realised I hadn’t paid for the parking ticket and I’d forgotten money. I emptied out the bag on the passenger seat and through tears gathered up a few coins. Then I had to go home and tell Tim the findings. He was just as shocked as I had been.

More surgery

The day after the Ploughing Championships, I had the second procedure to remove the “internationally recommended standard of margin.”

Then the wait began for the results. I tried not to worry but instead I’d wake up during the night when I’d roll over on to the tender ear. I had 14 stitches down along the edge. For a small thing, it was awfully sore.

I had always ignored the mark on my ear and would have continued to do so. It was never on my radar as something to be addressed. What if the melanoma was not contained as was first thought?

There is a certain amount of guilt around this. I have always loved the sun. I know I was negligent about my ears. I never thought to put sun cream on them. Yet, I’m an avid gardener and would regularly put my hair in a ponytail and spend hours on my knees. Now I realise the error of my ways as the sun beat down on my ears. I never wear a hat in the summer months. It was skin cancer that killed my father-in-law Denis. Consequently, Tim is very vigilant about the sun and always wears a hat.

The wait

It was four weeks after the procedure before the results were back. It was far too long. It was also frustrating for the consultant. My consultant said that there was no need to worry. But that was what he said the first time and look what happened.

It was a tough four weeks. I was in the car park of the supermarket when the phone call arrived. The words “tests clear” sent me crying again. The feeling of relief was enormous. I had been lucky to have an observant husband.

Nobody is responsible for our health but us. Blemishes of the skin can turn nasty. Vigilance of family members can save lives – but we must listen to them! The mark on my ear was misshapen just like a splash you’d get in the milking parlour. The only change was that the centre of it darkened and Tim picked it up.

My slightly misshapen ear reminds me every day of how precious life is and how important it is to look after our health proactively.