Supermodel Christie Brinkley disclosed her recent health ordeal in a candid post. At 70 years old, she revealed she underwent a procedure following a casual doctor’s visit that that led to her being diagnosed with a serious condition.
A chance encounter that proved miraculous.
© christiebrinkley / Instagram
Brinkley wasn’t at the doctor’s office for herself, but for her daughter. However, a small concern caught the doctor’s attention. «The Doctor was looking at each freckle with a magnifying glass… it wasn’t my appointment, so I wasn’t going to say anything, but at the VERY end I asked if he could just look at a little tiny dot I could feel as I applied my foundation,» she recounted. The doctor acted swiftly, performing a biopsy on the spot, which led to her diagnosis of skin cancer.
© christiebrinkley / Instagram
Brinkley expressed relief in her post, saying, «The good news for me is we caught the basal cell Carcinoma early.» She praised her medical team for their expert care, likening their skill to that of high-fashion tailors, «And I had great Doctors that removed the cancer and stitched me up to perfection like an haute couture Dior…»
She’s ready to make lifestyle changes and urges her fans to do the same.
© christiebrinkley / Instagram
Following her diagnosis, Brinkley has decided to make significant changes to her daily routine to better protect her skin. She emphasized the importance of sun protection to her followers, stating, «The good news for you is that all of this can be avoided by being diligent with your sun protection!» She plans to be more vigilant, using sunscreen, wearing protective clothing, and undergoing regular skin check-ups.
Brinkley concluded by expressing gratitude to the doctors and reminding everyone to prioritize their health check-ups. This health update comes shortly after Brinkley celebrated a milestone birthday, marking the beginning of a new chapter focused on wellness and prevention.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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