The Skin Check That Saved My Life

I was 26 years old when I got the phone call.

It was a Sunday night, which already felt a little unusual. Doctors generally don’t ring you on a Sunday night to tell you that everything is wonderfully boring.

A few days earlier, I’d had a suspicious mole removed from the middle of my back. Not somewhere helpful, like my forearm, where I might have noticed it changing. Not somewhere obvious, like my face, where I might have seen it in the mirror.

Nope.

Right between my shoulder blades.

A perfect little hiding spot for something that, as it turned out, was quietly becoming very serious.

The dermatologist told me the biopsy had come back positive for melanoma.

And just like that, at 26 years of age, I went from being a fairly carefree, slightly useless young bloke starting a new chapter of life in Townsville, to someone being told they had skin cancer.

That sort of news lands heavily.

Even when it is caught early. Even when the doctors are reassuring. Even when everyone is optimistic. There is still something about hearing the word “melanoma” attached to your own body that makes the room feel a little smaller.

And I say this with no exaggeration at all: if my mum had not pushed me to get my skin checked, I genuinely do not know if I would be here today.

That is not me being dramatic.

That is the part of this story I still come back to nearly 20 years later.

I didn’t find it. I didn’t book the appointment. I didn’t take charge of the situation. I didn’t have some grand moment of maturity where I thought, “You know what, Michael, it’s time to take full ownership of your health.”

Absolutely not.

I was 25, maybe 26, and still operating with the life administration skills of a confused golden retriever.

I had recently returned from spending some time overseas in the UK. Before I left, or somewhere around that period, I had a dermatologist appointment booked. I’d had skin checks through my teenage years because I had fair skin, I’d spent a lot of time outdoors, and there was a family history of skin cancers and sun-damaged skin. My parents had always been proactive with this sort of thing.

But when that appointment came around, I didn’t go.

I thought I was fine.

I was busy.

I had other things happening.

I was young.

My skin could wait.

Which, in hindsight, is one of those wonderfully stupid sentences that only a 20-something-year-old can truly believe.

Because your skin, much like your car registration, your tax return, and most responsibilities in early adulthood, does not magically sort itself out just because you are choosing not to think about it.

Not long after skipping that appointment, I moved to Townsville to start my physiotherapy degree. I was getting settled, making friends, studying, and generally trying to work out how to be an adult. Emphasis on “trying.”

Then one day I was speaking to Mum on the phone, and she casually asked how my dermatologist appointment had gone.

I told her I hadn’t gone.

There was a pause.

Not a small pause.

A proper Mum pause.

The sort of pause where you know you have disappointed someone who loves you deeply but is also mentally preparing a very firm follow-up sentence.

She was horrified. And to be fair, she had every right to be.

But instead of just telling me off and leaving it there, she did what good mums often do. She stepped in. She helped. She organised. She made sure I had an appointment with a dermatologist in Townsville as soon as possible.

And that appointment saved my life.

The mole was in the middle of my back, sitting between my shoulder blades. I could not see it properly. I was not monitoring it. I had no idea it was changing. It was in one of those places where, unless someone else is looking carefully and professionally, it can just sit there quietly doing whatever it wants.

And what it wanted to do, unfortunately, was become melanoma.

The dermatologist recognised it as suspicious and removed it promptly. A couple of days later, he rang me on that Sunday night and told me the biopsy was positive.

The good news was that they believed it had been caught early. The not-so-fun news was that I needed to go back in so they could cut deeper, wider, and longer to make sure they had removed all the cancerous tissue.

Thankfully, they were confident they got it all.

But that was not the end of the story.

For the next five years, I had skin checks every three-six months. Every three-six months, someone was carefully checking my skin to make sure nothing had been missed and nothing new had appeared. Even though the melanoma had been caught early, there was still a very real concern that things could change. I remember being told that if I made it through that five-year period without any major issues, that would be a very good outcome.

That tends to get your attention.

It certainly got mine.

Since then, skin checks have simply become part of my life. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a “I now live in a cave and hiss at daylight” kind of way. But in a consistent, grown-up, sensible way that 26-year-old Mick would have found deeply inconvenient.

Over the years since that melanoma, I have had more lesions removed, including two basal cell carcinomas and one squamous cell carcinoma. BCCs and SCCs are generally different to melanoma, and melanoma is the one that can be particularly aggressive and fast-moving if it is not caught early, but they are still skin cancers.

They still matter. They are still reminders that my skin needs proper, ongoing care.

And as I have got older, I have noticed those changes more.

Maybe that is partly age. Maybe it is partly awareness. Maybe it is partly the wonderful Australian combination of fair skin, outdoor childhood, and the sort of sun exposure that many of us grew up thinking was just part of life.

I grew up in country New South Wales and had a very typical outdoor Aussie childhood. Soccer in winter. Cricket and golf in summer. Family holidays on the Gold Coast. Long days at the beach. Lots of time outside. Lots of sun.

And I want to be really clear here: this is not about blaming my parents, my upbringing, sport, beach holidays, or the 1980s. My parents were actually the reason this melanoma was found. They were the ones who took skin checks seriously. They were the ones who kept an eye on things when I was younger. Mum was the one who stepped in when I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to skip an appointment.

The reality is that I was just very lucky to have that support.

I would love to tell you that in my twenties I was organised, responsible, proactive, and completely across my own healthcare.

But that would be fiction.

Lovely fiction, but fiction nonetheless.

The truth is I was pretty useless in that department. I still relied on my parents, especially Mum, for far more than I probably should have. If I could turn back the clock, I would take a lot more ownership of my health and responsibilities much earlier. I would book the appointment. I would attend the appointment. I would not assume that being young and active meant everything was fine.

But I cannot turn back the clock.

What I can do is be honest about it.

And hopefully that honesty helps someone else.

Because I do think there is an important message here, particularly for young people, and perhaps especially for young men.

When you are young, it is very easy to feel untouchable. You can get away with a lot. Late nights. Too much sun. Not enough sleep. Questionable food decisions. Delayed appointments. Ignoring things you probably should not ignore. Your body often absorbs it all quietly for a while, like a very patient accountant collecting receipts.

Then one day, often later than you expect, it starts sending invoices.

For me, one of those invoices arrived as a Sunday night phone call telling me I had melanoma.

I have shared a little more about my health over the past year than I ever expected to. Melioidosis. Mental health. Pneumothorax. And now melanoma.

Apparently my 40s have become the year of deeply unplanned personal updates.

A very niche content strategy.

Would not recommend.

But I am not sharing any of this because I want sympathy. I really don’t. I have been incredibly lucky, and I know that many people are carrying far heavier things than I am. If anything, the last 12 months have given me a much stronger sense of perspective. You can be having a rough day or a rough week, and that is still completely valid, but there are always people out there doing it much, much tougher.

That perspective has been good for me.

Humbling, but good.

I have a wife, kids, family, friends, and people around me who I love dearly. I do not want to take them for granted. I do not want to take my health for granted. I do not want to sleepwalk through life assuming everything will always be fine just because it mostly has been so far.

You only get one body.

And I spent a fair bit of my teens, twenties, and thirties treating mine like an amusement park with questionable safety regulations.

Fun? Yes.

Wise? Probably not.

So now, in my 40s, I am trying to respect it a little more. Not in a midlife crisis way. I have not purchased a convertible, started wearing expensive white sneakers with no socks, or begun referring to myself as being “in my optimisation era.”

I am just trying to be a bit more sensible.

A bit more grateful.

A bit more aware that health is not something we should only care about after something goes wrong.

And that brings me to one of the reasons I really wanted to share this story now.

I am genuinely worried about the amount of misinformation floating around online about health, sunscreen, sun exposure, vitamin D, skin care, nutrition, masculinity, and just about every other topic that can be confidently misunderstood by someone with a microphone and good lighting.

This is not me wanting to lecture anyone.

And it is definitely not me pretending that every young person needs to live in bubble wrap and only eat steamed broccoli while doing mindfulness beside a spreadsheet.

But we do live in a strange time.

On one hand, we have access to more good health information than ever before. We can book appointments online. We can learn from qualified professionals. We can access public health advice. We can make better decisions than previous generations because we know more.

That is a wonderful thing.

But on the other hand, a lot of young people are also being fed health advice by some very questionable characters on social media. TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, podcasts - the algorithm does not always reward nuance, evidence, humility, or qualification. Quite often, it rewards certainty, outrage, aesthetics, and someone saying something provocative while sitting in front of a bookshelf they may or may not have read.

And for young men in particular, some of this content gets wrapped up in a much bigger package of questionable advice. How to look. How to behave. How to treat women. How to think about strength. How to eat. How to train. How to avoid “mainstream” health advice. How to distrust sunscreen. How to “do your own research” by listening to people who have already decided what answer they want.

I am not saying everyone online is bad. Far from it. There are plenty of excellent educators, clinicians, scientists, and communicators doing wonderful work. People like me ;-)

But there are also a lot of loud, confident voices giving health advice with very little expertise and even less humility.

And that matters.

Because when you are 18, 22, or 26, you often already think bad things happen to other people. You already feel young. You already feel healthy. You already think you have time. You already think missing one appointment probably does not matter.

Trust me.

I know that guy.

I was that guy.

And that guy very nearly paid a much higher price.

So when I see people online questioning sunscreen in a way that makes young people suspicious of basic skin protection, I find that genuinely concerning. Not because every conversation about health should be shut down. Not because people should not ask questions. Questions are good. Good questions are how we learn.

But if your questions are being answered by someone with no medical qualifications, no meaningful understanding of skin cancer, and a business model that depends on being controversial, then maybe it is worth pausing before you let that person guide your health decisions.

Especially here in Australia.

We live in a country with high UV exposure, a strong outdoor culture, and a very real skin cancer burden. That does not mean people in other parts of the world are immune, because skin cancer can affect people everywhere. But in Australia, we really do need to take this seriously.

And no, looking after your skin is not soft.

Wearing sunscreen is not weak.

Booking a skin check is not dramatic.

Listening to a qualified medical professional is not “being a sheep.”

It is just basic health care.

And sometimes basic health care saves your life.

I know it is easy to put off. I know life is busy. I know skin checks are not exactly the most thrilling appointment in the calendar. Nobody is sitting there on a Monday morning thinking, “Wonderful, I hope someone examines my back under bright lights today.”

But please book the appointment.

Especially if you have fair skin, a history of sun exposure, lots of moles, a family history of skin cancer, previous skin cancers, or moles in places you cannot easily see. And if someone who loves you is gently, or not-so-gently, encouraging you to get checked, maybe listen to them.

I am very glad I listened to my mum.

Eventually.

After first being useless.

Obviously.

Since that diagnosis, I have taken my skin health seriously. I get checked regularly. I wear sunscreen. I cover up. I try to be sensible in the sun. I still enjoy being outdoors, but I no longer treat sun protection like an optional extra for people who own matching beach towels and have their life together.

It is just part of looking after myself.

And that is really the heart of this blog.

Please look after yourself.

Please look after your skin.

Slip, slop, slap and do it all year round, not just when you are standing on the beach in January wondering if your shoulders are starting to smell cooked.

Wear sunscreen.

Cover up.

Seek shade.

Wear a hat.

Get your skin checked.

Ask proper questions to proper health professionals.

And be careful who you let influence your decisions online, because confidence is not the same as competence, a big following is not the same as expertise, and a viral opinion is not the same as good medical advice.

I was 26 when I was diagnosed with melanoma.

I was young.

I was active.

I was careless.

I was lucky.

Very lucky.

Nearly 20 years on, I am incredibly grateful to still be here. Grateful for the appointment my Mum made for me and the dermatologist who acted quickly. Grateful that it was caught early. Grateful for my family. Grateful for my wife and kids and grateful for the chance to keep annoying people with ACL content for many years to come.