Photo courtesy of Niderlander -Dreamstime Stock Photos |
At 55, I am meandering into the stage of life where the
finishing post is beckoning on the horizon, hopefully some distance away but
definitely within view. As I shuffle ever closer to oblivion, there is growing
awareness of events that might catapult me to the end point ahead of the older
runners in front of me. One such issue relates to the prospect of a serious
illness.
I’ve been aware of the two brownish lumps on my skin for at
least three years; in all likelihood these moles will have been my companions
for much, much longer but I’ve paid no attention to them. But recently I’ve
been submitting them to daily inspections in the mirror. The larger one is about one
centimetre in diameter, located on the side of my face. The other is narrower
but slightly raised, bravely lurking among the undergrowth of my abdominal
hair.
Armed with the partial knowledge accrued from Google
searches for “melanoma” and “skin cancer”, I’d detected ominous signs that both
my blemishes were two-tone and the one on my gut had a crusty top, with a blood
droplets oozing from beneath it. I decided to get them checked out.
Having not visited my local doctor for several years, I was
initially impressed to find that he had apparently embraced the technological
age. I booked an early appointment online and, when I arrived at his surgery, I
registered my presence via the touch-screen, thereby helpfully avoiding any
interaction with the medical receptionists (or “bulldogs” as they are known
locally). Within minutes, “MR BRYAN JONES” flashed up on the big screen,
instructing me to make my way to the doctor’s consulting room.
I knocked and entered. The doc, a mountain of a man with
chunky spectacles, hands the size of frying pans, and an enormous belly
straining at the lower buttons of his polyester white shirt, did not look up,
his eyes (magnified three-fold) remaining fixed on his computer screen.
“What can I do for you, Mr Jones” he asked, head still
bowed, his voice betraying the boredom of routine medical practice.
“I’ve a couple of skin aberrations I’d like you to check.”
(I always use big words when speaking to doctors to try and counter feelings of
inferiority).
The description of my complaint seemed to ignite his
interest. "Let me have a look” he said, springing to his feet and prising
under-sized latex gloves over his bulbous fingers.
I pointed out the location of the moles. His eyes flitted
between my face and my exposed belly, as if he couldn’t quite decide which
interloper to confront first. He then swooped to inspect my abdominal savannah
and prodded it with his forefinger.
“That’s just a pimple” he said, his voice tinged with
disappointment. He then proceeded to pinch the mole between his thumb and digit
and, in one swift movement, ripped off the crusty scab.
I whimpered, like a whipped puppy.
“Did it hurt?” he asked.
“A tad.”
“It’s bleeding a bit” said the doc, apparently surprised,
“I’ll cauterize it with silver nitrate.”
That must be a sophisticated medical procedure, I thought. Wrong!
The doctor pulled out an implement that resembled a large spent match and then
pressed the hot, blackened end into my pimple. The bleeding stopped, the skin
around darkened with a ragged sooty deposit.
“As for the one on your face, I’ll need to remove that under
local anaesthetic in my minor surgery clinic and send a bit off for analysis.
I’ll book you in.”
Subsequently, I’ve fantasised about my doctor’s minor
surgery technique. I’m tormented by a recurring image of a hatchet-wielding
crack-addict in an abattoir. I maybe a 55-year-old hypochondriac but I’m still
vain; the mutilation of my Richard- Gere, baby-face features is not a welcome
prospect. I think I’ll risk the cancer.
Years ago...
ReplyDelete"Just drop your shorts and lean over the table a bit, Petty Officer Penwasser [I was still in the Navy]. I want to see how the hemorrhoid surgery turned out."
After complying...
"Huh, looks like I missed a little bit of skin when I removed the tissue. I'd ask you to have a look, but hahahahahah."
NOTE: A FUNNY Butt Doctor. Hilarious.
"So, it looks like will have to cauterize it a bit."
CAUTERIZE!!!!????
Electronic hum followed by a quick jab at said little bit of skin.
IT FELT LIKE A GD BRANDING IRON AND THE AIR SMELT LIKE THE DINING ROOM AT PONDEROSA.
Good times...good times.
Our medical friends are a bit too keen to grab the cauterizer. And by the way, your "smelling like the Ponderosa" quip has put me right off my barbecue!
DeleteIt was funny (not at the time). When he was done, Dr. Johnson (the aforementioned Butt Doctor) said I could lay there for a few minutes.
DeleteYeah. As if I was capable of anything else. He shoved a hot poker up my ass.
I don't think I've ever read a better description of a hairy belly as in 'abdominal savannah'. As for your Richard Gere baby face- best to not loose it altogether my friend. Make an appointment.
ReplyDeleteGlad you were impressed by the description of my gut. (Never thought I'd be posting that line!). As for the follow-up appointment to have my mole excised, I'm there on Friday.
ReplyDeleteI've stopped counting all the goodies I've had lopped off, including a few on my face. The worst was a rectal skin tag that they sliced off without any anesthesia. I nearly hit the ceiling. The procedure was done so poorly that I developed a rectal fissure, which they can't stitch or bandage in any way. Took months to heal. I'll stop now 'cause I know this is too much information. But do have that growth on your face tended to.
ReplyDeleteYou clearly have a wealth of experience in the "lopping off" department.
DeleteAs for my face-growth, it's being cut out on Friday - here's hope I do not lose too much blood in the process!
Oh yeah, Steve, I hear ya. Butt issues. For months, little rabbit pellets/cocoa puffs felt like bowling balls. I thought I would faint every time I had a BM.
DeleteI like the way he dealt with your belly pimple. Got stuck in quickly and killed it with a red hot poker without giving you the chance to run away like a sissy. Think of it as one down, one to go.
ReplyDeleteYes, that's a helpful positive reframe. And I own up: I am a sissy.
Delete---Yeah,
ReplyDeleteyou do kind of look like Richard Gere. Isn't he about 55 now, too? Keep your appt. I'm sure all is okay!
No worries; I'm back at the surgery on Friday.
DeleteI appreciate your interest.
Oof, so he burned the wound with a soldering iron? That sounds pretty badass. I had to have a dermatologist tackle a giant pimple on my face. She used a needle, and probably regretted her decision when its contents sprayed all over her face. But, it's better to be overly cautious than oblivious.
ReplyDeleteSo there is a God! I'm back at the docs tomorrow to have my mole excised.
DeleteIf you're willing to pay extra, maybe he'll his hatchet at home ;)
ReplyDeletePerhaps that's it, Anne; I should go private rather than using the National Health Service?
DeleteSounds painful but it is absolutely necessary to continue to get biopsies on any suspicious areas. I know too many people who have had skin cancer---take care of it now while you can, my friend.
ReplyDeleteNo worries Marcia, I had it lopped off (and sent to the lab) yesterday. The doc is strongly of the view it's not malignant.
ReplyDeleteI'll never forget my mother-in-law saying, "Old age is hell." We both laughed.
ReplyDeleteShe died at age 70 of some rare disease.
Anyway, I've had a tiny little slice cut off of my face. Amazing that it didn't leave a scar, Richard... oops, I mean, uh, "Bryan."
Yes, having two names on the web can be confusing.
DeleteThanks for reading and commenting.
Well, I guess it's good that he didn't rip it off your face with his bare hands!
ReplyDeleteI'm sure he considered that option!
ReplyDeleteHa, sorry for the disappointing absence of doomsday illness!
ReplyDeleteGood to hear you'll live, even though that pimple did sound brutal indeed!
Yes, Daniel, it does seem I will survive on this occasion - despite his 'old-doctoring' approach.
Delete