The Game No One Wants to Win
You know what's not a good version of that game? Stump the Dermatologist. I'll try to spare you the most disgusting details, so here's the short version:
The first week of January, I notice something resembling a large, uh, blemish, smack in the middle of my right cheek (the one on my face, pervs!) and I think, "Damn it all to hell, you stupid perimenopause! I've NEVER had acne anywhere but the T-zone! Thanks for nothing, bitches!" Then I begin the usual treatment. After two months, I realize that NOTHING is going to make this thing go away. Nothing. Well - to be fair, it's not like I tried Lysol or anything, but you catch my drift.
After a few lectures (mostly from parents, and yes, I'm 36. What's your point?), I make an appointment with the family dermatologist. After all, I have a family history of skin cancer like you wouldn't believe. Both sides. A family history of straight white teeth and 20/20 vision? Not so much. But I digress.
My lovely dermatologist, Dr. G. says, "I'm concerned, but I'm not urgently concerned." He didn't say it was cancer, so I'm not freaking out. "Okay," I say calmly, "What is it?" He holds my face in his hands and tilts my face up toward his giant light. Then he takes off his glasses and squints. Puts the glasses back on and sighs. "I really don't know." Uh, okay. You've been practicing dermatology for at least 25+ years and you don't know???!!!?
If you're the least bit interested in the outcome, here it is: Since I'm young (his words, but still) he said he doesn't want to do a biopsy and then come back and have to cut again. His exact words, "I don't want lots of scarring, so if I do cut it out, I'm going to cut once, and cut deep. It will hurt." Goody. But he wants to rule out cancer, so for one month, I'm slathering on this topical antibiotic cream. He doesn't think the festering sore on my face is a bacterial infection, but just in case it might be, he wants to go this route before we do any, um, cutting.
I really don't care at this point, I just want the thing gone. We're going on three months now. That's longer than I've had most of my boyfriends, for cryin' out loud! But what I do care about? Stumping the dermatologist. I imagine the only thing worse would be stumping the gynecologist. Those are the people who get their pictures taken and put into medical school textbooks for future study. If my guy asks if he can take a picture of this thing on my face, I think my answer will be "No. Not even in the name of science."
Off to grade papers! Sincerely, Teacher - "Good God, what is that on your face?! Someone call the news!" Lady.
Labels: Manic Rants