Every fucking poster in the dermatologist's office had A PICTURE OF MY FUCKING UGLY PLACE ON IT! with words like, "These signs point to danger!" and yes, I had all of the signs. All of them. Except no bleeding.
So the doctor comes in and he asks me what's going on and I tell him and he says, "Let's take a look," and he does and he IMMEDIATELY says, "Oh, no. That's nothing."
"What? What? It has all the signs! It looks like all the pictures!" I point to one of the pictures on the wall. Actually FOUR pictures. They all looked just like the place on my leg. "Plus, rapid growth, plus itching!"
The man drills the facts about things to look for into me every time I go in there which is about once a year. Or so. DRILLS THOSE FACTS! Which is why I was freaking out.
"Oh, sometimes you can't tell by the pictures. Or the signs," he said casually in a complete and utter refutation of every bit of information he's given me in the past ten years.
So what, I ask you, is the fucking point?
I don't know. But I do know that I am so very, very grateful not to have the skin cancer. And he removed the ugly place and he reassured me that I have inherited my mother's ugly skin stuff which is exacerbated by sun exposure (hello! I grew up in Florida!) and I've surely passed it on to my kids and there's nothing to be done about it. Just the way it is. Sorry kids. Stay out of the sun.
Unless we're at the beach. Haha!
The place on my leg had gotten irritated from my damn phone in my damn pocket when I take my damn walks. Why do I have my phone with me on my walks? Because I use it as a pedometer. And if I need to take a picture of something, I have it with me. And also so if a bear attacks me I can, well, I don't know. Hit him with it. I guess.
And I knew the phone was hitting that spot and I'd switched it into another pocket in the last few weeks but the damage had been done and there you go- a skin cancer scare. Which I have been obsessing about for the last week as if it were a job that was paying me the big bucks.
So now I feel completely wiped out and almost hung-over from the panic-hormones. I feel like I could sleep for a month. And yet, better. So much better.
And that's the story. And here's a picture from what we call the "cold room" at the Costco where Boppy met us so that he could spend some time with his boys. We love the cold room.
So next time you think you have skin cancer, DO NOT LOOK AT THE PICTURES! Just go ahead and go the doctor and have him laugh at you. Oh, but of course, first check to make sure it's not a tick. I swear. I think I'm going to have Mr. Moon take his belt sander to my hide. Probably not recommended by the Dermatology Association of America.
But obviously, they don't always get things right. Some signs do not always POINT TO DANGER!