I had this little spot on my cheek that started bleeding the
other day. I didn’t think anything of it at first until I overheard some
friends talking about skin cancer. I Googled skin cancer and clicked on the
images tab. Hundreds of pictures of skin cancer covered my computer
monitor. I do not recommend you do this. Take my word for it – you do NOT want
to see those images. Ever.
I employed my M.O. and ignored it, figuring it would go away
on its own. And it did. Sort of. Mostly. But when Savannah asked me to make a
dermatologist appointment for her, I figured I should make one for myself too.
I mean, I live in Florida now and they don’t call it The Sunshine State for
nothing. I’m vigilant about slathering my kids in sunscreen, especially since three
of them have Vitiligo, but I suck at remembering to apply it to myself. Then
there were the days when I was young and stupid and I’d lie around our pool,
covered in baby oil, a veritable piece of bacon crisping in the sun. And finally,
I’m old. Old people get skin cancer. In fact, 1 out of 5 people will develop
skin cancer at some point in their lives. I decided it would be a good idea to
get checked out by a dermatologist.
At the doctor’s office, I was escorted to a room by a young
guy. He gave me a pamphlet about skin cancer and rambled on about checking your
skin for suspicious spots, avoiding the sun whenever possible, using sunscreen,
and making yearly appointments with a dermatologist. “The doctor will be
checking you everywhere. She’ll even check your scalp and the bottoms of your
feet and in between your toes.” He continued, “People develop melanoma between
their toes. Bob Marley died from melanoma under his toenail that spread to his
lungs and brain.”
I wasn’t sure how to react to that tidbit. Was that supposed
to reassure me that I’d be fine since the doctor would check my toes? Or was he
trying to freak me out? Or just making dermatology related conversation? My
mind went to Jerry Seinfeld when he was dating the dermatologist, Dr. Pimple
Popper MD. Saving lives? The whole
profession is; eh, just put some aloe on it. I chuckled to myself because
that’s what I do – imagine random scenes from movies and sitcoms and then laugh
inappropriately.
“Are there any areas of concern?” he asked.
“Well, I had this little spot on my cheek here,” I admitted,
while poking at my face in the general vicinity of where the spot was. “It’s
really hard to tell where it is without a mirror. Anyway, it was bleeding a
little bit about a month ago.”
He looked at my face, then took a pen and proceeded to draw
a square around the spot in question. Then he handed me a paper gown and told
me to change. Before leaving, he asked, “I’ll be in here assisting the doctor
unless you’d feel more comfortable with two females in here?”
I shrugged, indifferent, and took the proffered paper gown. “I’ve given birth 6 times. Modesty is a thing
of the past.”
He left and I quickly changed, lest they walk in and see me
with my shirt half off. I mean, I know they’re going to see me buck naked, but
somehow it’s okay that they see me naked while I’m perched atop a paper covered
table. Seeing me standing there with my pants twisted around my ankles, on the
other hand, is a whole ‘nother world of embarrassment.
I hopped up onto the table and glanced down at the chipped
polish on my toes. Oh no! She won’t be
able to see my toenails through my red polish with the black and white stripes
(my homage to the Blackhawks and their 10 game winning streak.) Great! I’ll
probably die of toe cancer and all because of this stupid nail polish. They
should really tell you to arrive polish-free when you make an appointment.
Bob Marley songs played through my brain as I waited for the
doctor.
Don’t worry
About a thing
‘Cause every little thing
Gonna be alright
Unless you have toenail cancer
And then you’ll die
Thankfully the doctor walked in before I could create any
more new lyrics. She introduced herself and held out her hand. I eyed her hand,
then peered at my own, glistening with moisture. I’m cursed with the ability to
produce inordinate amounts of sweat when I’m nervous. Clasp her hand and gross her out with the sweat, ignore her
outstretched hand and offend her for not participating in her greeting, or mumble
something about having sweaty palms? I
ignored her, then reconsidered and wiped my hand on my paper gown, ripping it
in the process, and finally thrust my hand out toward her. She gave me an odd
look, then got to work combing through my hair with her fingers, looking for
signs of skin cancer.
“Do you have a hair stylist?” she asked.
“Yeah, I know I’m really gray. It’s time for a touch-up,” I
said, embarrassed.
“No, no, I just meant that if someone does your hair, they
can let you know if they see anything strange.”
“Ohhhh.”
She continued to look me all over while I sat there. As she
checked me, she called off official sounding names to her assistant who stood,
bent over his clipboard listing all the weird skin conditions that apparently
cover me. Satisfied that she’d thoroughly inspected my top half, she asked me
to stand up. I tried to gracefully slide from the table, but the paper stuck to
my legs and I pulled it with me. Then my knee buckled (thank you for that,
Zumba!) and I kind of teetered for a minute flailing my arms out and hitting
the doctor while attempting to regain my balance. Meanwhile, the paper which
has fused to my thighs is still trailing behind me like an absurdly prosaic
bridal train.
I gave a nervous little laugh as I pictured Ross trying to
pull his leather pants up over his sweaty legs. (Again, it’s what I do.)
The lotion and the powder have made a paste! |
When she finished her check, she told me that the spot on my
cheek was pre-cancerous and not to worry because it could be many years before
it turned cancerous, but still, they recommend getting rid of it with
cryosurgery now. So she froze it with liquid nitrogen. I didn’t look in a
mirror and didn’t realize I had a big red blotch on my cheek inside a square
drawn with pen until I got to work. Pretty.
And you know what? She never looked at my toes!
So here’s my little PSA – use sunscreen, pay attention to
any moles or spots on your body that change, and see a dermatologist because
skin cancer is highly curable when caught early. And take off your nail polish
before going!
6 comments:
Nooooooo the part where you imagined Ross killed me.
You are still so amazing, even in embarrassment! You remind me to do what is necessary to stay healthy. I only wish I were even half so entertaining in my head. It would give me something to do, while I wait in fear, to imagine Ross in his leather.
love the new Bob Marley lyrics.
This was great! I'll have to bring a copy of this with me the next time I go to the doctor. It will make me feel better about my own fears and bumbles!
I especially love how you pay homage to Friends with your title. ;)
So other people fight World War III with those paper gowns as well???
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