The day was sunny, far from the rainy days we have had for the last several days, and my client and I were watching as the stucco from his home fell away in chunks. This was not caused by a freakishly selective earthquake that struck Northern Utah, singled out this house, politely leaving the neighbors alone. Nor was it caused by a certain Realtor arriving with a storm cloud over her head and parking it over the house for a personal reprieve. In fact, this was happening because both of us were watching as the house was undergoing the process of remediating mold damage that had been found during the inspections.

The only way to find out how far the problem went was to start peeling back the layers. They just had to keep opening the wall a little more and a little more to find the full extent of the damage. We sat and watched as the hole became wider and wider. Unfortunately, the theme of the day seemed to be, “there’s more.” What began as an opening to investigate mold behind the stucco kept getting bigger. They removed a section, found more mold on the board underneath, and moved further out. I understood the process. I just wished the house would run out of surprises. So did my client.

As I watched, I began to see strong parallels with my upcoming Mohs surgery scheduled for my nose. As a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman slightly past middle age who has spent decades in a toxic relationship with the sun, ignoring every red flag — including the ones on my nearly transparent skin, I was now having to account for my misdeeds by paying the proverbial piper. Since I had spent a fair amount of time attempting to “consult” with the surgeon concerning the lack of urgency or even necessity of this procedure (he did not agree), I was very familiar with the process. They would remove a layer of my skin, examine it, and determine if more needed to come off. There would really be no way to know exactly how many layers they would have to take off initially without just doing it. Suddenly, I felt a rather personal connection to this. Neither of us knew exactly how much exterior we were about to lose.

Of course, this is where the comparison takes a turn. Mold spores occur naturally in the environment. The goal isn’t to produce a house without a single spore. It’s to remove the mold growth and damaged material and correct whatever allowed moisture to make itself at home in the first place.

According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, proper remediation involves several steps. None of them is “put the stucco back and hope for the best.”

First, find the moisture source. How did water get behind the stucco? Flashing? Windows? Cracks? A sprinkler zealously watering the house instead of the lawn? Whatever the entry point, it needs to be addressed. Otherwise, you’re extending mold an invitation to return at its earliest convenience.

Workers also need appropriate protection, and the work area needs measures to control the spread of contaminated dust and debris. Then comes the investigative part: opening the wall to determine how far the problem extends. This was the stage we were watching, with considerably more enthusiasm for finding the end than for discovering anything else.

Materials that cannot be salvaged are removed. Those that can be saved are properly cleaned. Simply spraying something to kill the mold doesn’t finish the job; the contamination still needs to be removed. A bottle of bleach and a positive attitude are not a remediation plan.

The exposed materials must also be thoroughly dried before the wall is closed. Covering up a damp wall because it looks better would be an excellent way to become a repeat customer.

Before rebuilding, the work needs to be checked. Has the moisture source been corrected? Are the remaining materials clean and dry? Have visible mold growth, contaminated debris, and musty odors been addressed? Air testing may sometimes be useful, but it cannot substitute for inspecting the actual work.

Then, finally, comes reconstruction: replacing removed materials, completing the repairs that keep water out, and restoring the exterior. Follow-up checks help confirm that the problem remains resolved.

It’s tempting to focus on getting everything looking normal again. I understood that temptation on a deeply personal level. But whether I was looking at the house or thinking about my nose, I wanted the problem addressed before anyone started making the exterior pretty.

In this case, as we watched, we were eager for the announcement, “we are finished,” and it finally happened, both for the house and my nose. Here’s to hoping we both stay healthy.

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.