Mom Thought Bump on 11-Year-Old’s Temple Was from Playing Outside. Then Doctors Told Her She Would Lose Her Eye

As far back as she can remember, Melanie Wightman has loved getting dressed. Childhood mornings started with picking out bright, joyful outfits; afternoons ended with playing outside with friends before dinner and bedtime.

That rhythm changed one afternoon when, at 11 years old, she came home and noticed a small bump on her right temple. She showed her mom, who was instantly concerned.

“I remember she was really confused,” says Wightman, the middle of three sisters. “She was like, ‘Did you get hit by a ball? Were you playing soccer with your friends or something?’ I tried to think, but nothing had happened.”

Her mom took her to their local doctor, who wasn’t worried. A second doctor wasn’t alarmed either. Still, her mom couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. One doctor quietly offered to do a biopsy “if it would give us comfort,” Wightman recalls, having grown up in a military family where you learn to listen to your instincts.

They agreed — and not long after, the biopsy came back cancerous.

“I was so young,” she says. “The doctor explained what was going on, and my mom — she was my rock through everything — would sit me down and talk me through it. I understood enough to cope, and in some ways being young almost made it easier.”

Wightman was diagnosed with ocular melanoma, a rare eye cancer that develops in pigment-producing cells of the eye. She first underwent surgery on her temple. During a follow-up appointment at age 12, doctors told her they would have to remove her right eye.

The next day, her eye was removed. She later returned home for extensive surgery to clear the margins, including skin grafts along her side to ensure no cancer remained.

“That was probably one of the hardest days,” she says.

What followed were years of treatment: interferon therapy, radiation in Florida and constant monitoring. At the same time, she was learning how to be a teenager while adjusting to life with one eye.

During her freshman year of high school, she found out the cancer had returned and needed another major surgery. By her junior year, it had spread to her liver. Doctors tried steroid treatment, but her body couldn’t tolerate it, and she was moved to a more demanding regimen.

She kept going. When she left for James Madison University, her cancer continued to progress. She balanced liver treatments with her college coursework — heading to the health center between classes and traveling for therapy during school breaks.

Through it all, Wightman clung to the things that made her feel like herself. Fashion quickly became more than a hobby; it became a lifeline. Dressing up allowed her to express who she was, to feel a sense of normalcy and to hold onto joy in the middle of uncertainty.

“I remember even going to treatment and thinking, if I wear a sparkly shirt or a big bow, it brings me a little bit of happiness,” she says. “Fashion has always given me a space to express myself.”

She leaned heavily on her support system, too.

“I’ve had incredible support from my doctors and specialists who would come sit with me during treatment,” she says. “And my friends here in college have been with me through everything. They send letters, FaceTime me, text me to ask, ‘How are you doing?’ Those small gestures reminded me how much I value my friendships and how much they mean to me.”

Last summer, during a monthlong hospital stay, Wightman started making short TikTok videos to lift her spirits. What began as lighthearted clips for her family slowly turned into a space where she could share her outfits, routines and reflections on living with cancer.

Her content took on even deeper meaning when she learned she would lose her hair.

“I remember thinking, we can make something out of this,” she says. With her sewing experience, she decided to design her own bandanas — special pieces that felt uniquely hers.

She went straight to the store and bought an embroidery machine. Inspired by the idea that every cancer diagnosis has a ribbon, she designed her own version, one that represented her journey.

“I wanted one that tells my story,” she explains. “When I wear it, I feel comfort, confidence and strength. It feels like me.”

Since then, she has created multiple bandanas and colorful head wraps and continued sharing them on TikTok. Her videos have gone viral, reaching thousands of people across the world.

“All the love I’ve gotten from that has helped me through this,” she says. “It keeps me going and keeps me fighting. Even if just one person says my video brought positivity to their day, that means so much — that’s really what I want to do with what I share.”

That support has encouraged her to stay open, even in her most difficult moments — including recently, when scans showed continued growth in her liver and new areas of concern.

When her doctors called with the news, Wightman was understandably disappointed. Still, she decided to talk about it online.

“It wasn’t the update I wanted to share, but I thought, let’s put it out there,” she says. Posting about it helped her feel less alone and gave her a sense of control over her story.

She has since undergone another round of liver treatment, and she and her medical team are considering next steps. Even with so many unknowns, Wightman says she’s learning to embrace every version of herself — finding strength, creativity and flashes of joy where she can.

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy.

“There are times when it’s easy to feel self-conscious — a look, a head turn or just a moment where I notice my appearance,” she says. “When that happens, I go back to the moment I found out I was losing my right eye. The doctor sat me down and said, ‘You’re going to look a little different.’ And I said, ‘Aren’t we all a little different?’”

That thought has become an anchor for her.

“I remind myself, cancer doesn’t define me,” she says. “It might take my hair, but it will never take the Melanie away from me. Losing my eye and my hair has taught me to love every version of myself. I hope people can take something from my story — that we’re all a little different, and that’s what makes us beautiful. Even through something hard, you can still find positivity.”

It’s a message she returns to again and again — and one she hopes others carry with them, too.

“I think about what that 11- or 12-year-old version of me said, and I hope it reminds people that we are all a little different — and that’s beautiful,” she says. “Even in the middle of something difficult, I hope people can take something positive from my story and my page, and find a little bit of joy there, too.”