A large, pink dot on my shoulder. That is all that it took to change me emotionally. To make me feel weak (and actually make me). To change the activities I do after school. To make me seem less attractive. To make me look like a harsh young girl because I lack “proper” posture.

Just to make things worse, the problem grew bigger and bigger just like the scar did. The last half a decade have been the most eventful years for my left shoulder. The big bump looks like it hangs off of my shoulder, which can explained why I can be noted as “The Slouchy Girl.”

All it was when I was four years old was a skin mole that was hardly recognizable. It was just a plain old dot about the size of one you can make when you press a pen in place for a minute.

But in the spring of third grade, my mom started taking me to a dermatologist. He pointed out that the tiny spot could be cancerous. At that time, I knew what cancer was, but I thought it was all a fictional and horrifying myth. I shivered so violently that I thought I was non existent. To stop the issue, he insisted on me getting it cut off, which would be performed with a knife the size of the ones you eat with, and a laser to keep the area clean of bleeding. On that day I entered the real world, learning that life isn’t all rainbows and flowers like it was for nine years.
About six months later, the day arrived. I was forced to take my clothes off and to put on a robe. It felt strange, considering that we were in his office, not a hospital. A few weeks before, my mom told me that it wouldn't hurt, for he would give me numbing material. All he gave me was a quick shot, but when he sliced the mole off and zapped it, it was like he was slapping my shoulder with a thick racquet made out of steel. My pain lasted for four days, too long to be able to restore afterwards.

Two months later I visited another dermatologist. By the time I saw him, my shoulder was housing a brand new resident: a medium sized dome shaped that shined brighter than my skin, with different scattered shades of red. Once when a block of wood on a staircase made a small cut right next to my left eye, he had done those stitches. After realizing my new issue, he insisted that doing stitches was the best and most productive task to do. Nothing about it made sense to why I had to get them - the “cancer” part had already disappeared.

In a heartbeat the second big day arrived - three days after my tenth birthday. I passed out the whole time, and he spent thirty long minutes apply numbing liquid so I didn’t feel a thing; not even him poking at it. My mind was dashing around a little bit, I remember. One thought was taking me to when I would have the most perfect shoulders in the world, while another was telling me it will be worse.

After the procedure, my dermatologist let me see what he had done. I ran to the garbage can and started to barf. In my opinion there is nothing more terrifying than seeing your skin all sewn together. It was all jammed together, with a dark grey string keeping basically my whole body together.

For a month, I was medically excused from gym class and sports. I had constant pain in my shoulder, to a certain extent it was painful just to raise both of my hands. There felt like sudden movement happening with the skin, like everything was happening in an instant.

Before March 24, 2011 - the day of my medical procedure - I was a somewhat decent athlete. I was able to always get the basketball in the hoops and dash down the water. But when I was finally excused from no exercise, I started throwing softballs in my backyard. Every one caused more and more pain, to a degree where it became unbearable. I put my focus onto pushups- something I was always skilled at. After about fifteen attempts of failing to push down, I stopped and started to have a massive temper tantrum.

This is where my acting “bone” started to appear. My mouth spitted out constant complaints that sports “isn’t my type anymore”. I participated in local theater productions, which I fell in love with. Most actors get their interest because they saw shows or their parent forced to. I had never even seen a Broadway show before them - heck, I didn’t even understood what Broadway was. The upcoming for me is very unique. Sports was like a disaster for me - I lost strength and skill - and I haven’t ever returned since. Weird how some simple event can change you as much as your way of life

For weeks I screamed about the dermatologist, and that cancer was more worth it than feeling like this. Having a bald head would make me wear a wig and make me look decent, but what if I just wanted to wear a bikini during the summer and look “normal”?

The upcoming summer I was forced to wear a band-aid all day. Pretty much, they were almost like my “best friends”. I had been going to a day camp for the past three summers, which I continued to do. Day after day, I realized the impact wearing it had on me. My movement felt free, I could whip my hair all over the place, and didn’t feel shy. Nobody knew what there really was under the material, which was an incredible relief. It ended up being one of my favorite summers for that reason.The only gift I needed was the gift of ignorance, which I received.

It was fifth grade, and I wanted to wear sleeveless tops to school. My mom warned me to wear sleeves, but I didn’t listen. Tank tops were worn by almost everyone - so why should I not be able to? Several people in my class asked uncomfortable words minute by minute.

“What happened?”
“Sports?”
“A fight?”
“Your dog?”

Half of what they were saying wasn’t anywhere close to logical. I ended up running to the bathroom and crying, wondering why they would even have the nerve to ask. Most times when people thought a physical characteristic they thought is ugly, they would give them the “yucky look”. There was just no explanation what brought all of them to ask me.

Summer arrived again, and I finally was allowed to not wear a band-aid. However, I did get a prescribed sunscreen just for the shoulder. People continued to ask about it. I almost wanted to write with permanent marker a small dot and write “before” over it and “after” over the current dot. Sometimes I wanted to cry just to talk about it. A little girl that I knew asked me on the beach what had happened. I tried to tell her while considering age appropriate material. My first attempt was to relax her and say that everything was Ok. But she started to cry and ran to her mom, and I left home immediately with nothing but guilt.

The worst thing everyone has ever inform to me was an obnoxious girl telling me she never saw anything so horrendous. I started to scream until my lungs couldn’t take it, and she slapped her hand perfectly on the scar. In return, I squeezed her toes with my feet, and she said everything was unfair. She forced me to always wear cap sleeve shirts and never tank tops. Coming from the person who always wore just her bra whenever possible.
Currently, I have a third dermatologist. For about two and a half years now, I visit his office on a monthly basis to get a laser zapped and then get injections on my shoulder via shots. To be honest I'm enjoying the process. Firstly for the future result of me having a flatter bump that blends neater with me skin, and also for gaining bragging rights of saying that I get 10 shots a month. I finally can feel like a hero.

Nowadays, everything is normal. People can now accept it, with only new strangers curious. Whenever I put on a piece of clothing that exposes my shoulders, I sit down and breathe. I can now understand that everything in life happens for a reason, and the bad things will move on.