So, now that I'm thirty-ten and I know that death is just around the corner, I've been thinking about all the damage I've done to my skin from my years of unprotected sunbathing. So, I made an appointment with a dermatologist so I could be
My appointment was at 1:45 on Monday. I dropped Brooklyn off at school and cruised over to the doctor's office. I checked in and filled out the required 482 forms.
"I need to make a copy of your insurance card and I need you to fill out these 4000 forms. Front AND back."
I took the clipboard and sat down to begin my novel. "Hmmm, my insurance information? How am I supposed to write down my insurance information when you have my card?" I asked the receptionist. "And better yet, WHY am I supposed to write down my insurance information when you have a copy of it right there? Is it really necessary to have it recorded on every single sheet of paper?"
She mumbled a sympathetic, "I know", but she was really thinking, I don't make the rules, lady. Just fill out the stupid forms so I can go to lunch. I know that's what she was thinking because I'd probably be thinking the same thing if I was in her place.
I finished the manuscript of information, returned the clipboard and sat back down to wait. And wait. And wait. I kept looking at the time, knowing I needed to leave by 2:45 to get Brooklyn. I really thought that allowing an hour for a skin check was enough time. Apparently not. Finally, at 2:30, I was called back into a room. I told the nurse that unless the doctor was ready to come in that second, that I couldn't wait around because I needed to get my daughter. She insisted the doctor would be with me in about 10 minutes. I told her that wasn't good enough and I'd have to reschedule. The nurse was very apologetic, so I spared her my wrath.
I walked to the front desk, informed the receptionist I'd have to reschedule and told her my 'missed appointment' bill would be in the mail. She looked at me and said, "Oh, we won't charge you for missing your appointment."
I laughed and said, "Oh, you misunderstand. I'M charging YOU for missing the appointment. Then, in a Seinfeld moment, said, "See, you know how to make an appointment, but you don't know how to keep an appointment. And really, the keeping of the appointment is the most important part of the appointment." She was less than amused.
So, I returned to the doctor today and only had to wait about a half an hour this time before the doctor walked in. She looked like a life-sized Barbie doll - super-tall, totally thin, swan-like neck, blond hair, perfect skin. I instantly hated her. Did I say that out loud? I meant, I instantly thought that she contained more plastic than Barbie. Oops, I did it again. What I really meant to say was that I instantly thought she was pretty and had been blessed by good genes and the ability to say "no" to cookies.
She did the all-over body check. That was fun. You know, if you like strangers scrutinizing every last inch of your less-than-perfect body. She found a couple of questionable spots and said she'd like to remove them for biopsy. Ok, no big deal. It didn't really surprise me or freak me out. The nurse gave me a couple shots to numb the areas, then the doctor came in with a knife and removed both spots in like 2 seconds. I was ready to hop up and get dressed when the doctor put something on my cheek where she'd just removed the questionable spot.
"Just a minute. I just want to smooth out the edges to make sure you won't have any scarring." I tried to see what she was doing, but couldn't make my old person eyes focus at such close range. And then I smelled burning flesh. I gently inquired as to what was going on. "What the crap are you doing and why I do I smell like I'm on fire?!!!" Apparently, this doctor likes to play with lasers.
I haven't been brave enough to remove the bandaid on my cheek for fear that it's covering a ginormous burned-out crater that will never heal. In all future pictures of me, I'll be leaning my cheek on my left hand and people will think it's just my casual pose, but in reality, I'll be hiding my huge facial deformity.
In the end, the moral of this story is - don't purposely go to the doctor unless you're dying or you may end up with a hole in your cheek.
And, in other news...
Could you use help in deciphering your teen's text lingo? Maybe you want to read some tips on how to talk to your teens about mobile meanness? Or do you want to hear other parents' takes on how they set limits for their teen's mobile phone usage? Well, look no further. You can find all of that at LG's Text Ed program HERE.
I have another chance to win a $100 Visa gift card from Kellogg's and BlogHer this week HERE.
And finally, you can read my latest post about teaching teens the difference between wants and needs HERE.