I had my appointment with the dermatologist one afternoon over March Break. Remember I said the wait list was six months long? Well, I guess there was a cancellation because I was in there precisely one week after I saw my regular doctor.
The dermaguy was very nice. I was happy about this. I need to have a nice doctor. I need chit chat, and he was accommodating in this department. He then took a look at my forehead and told me the wound that was left by my doctor’s coating of nitro needed to be scraped.
I had two questions: (a) what do you mean by scraped and (b) will it hurt. He froze it, so it didn’t hurt, but it sure didn’t sound great. I don’t mean the word SCRAPED, (although the sound of the word itself is giving me the willies) but the Sound of Actual Scraping. He scraped a small hole in my forehead. SCRAPED. Ugh. Also: he told me I must wear a hat and wear sunscreen. This is bad news for two reasons: I have yet to find a good, light, facial sunscreen. And the latest stuff I bought is making my face extremely ruddy. Second: I do love hats, but there is a distinct lack of cool summer hats around here. I have a deep down fear that I’m going to turn into one of those hat-wearing grandmas. I can’t be a hat-wearing grandma, I’m only 35!
Perhaps I need to look a little harder for a stylin’ chapeau.
So yes, face scraping. It felt gross, it sounded gross (‘SCRAAAAPE, SCRAAAAAPE’), and I was glad it was over. I saw the scrapings (*shudder*) floating in a little jar. This jar is being sent away to a lab and if there’s something up I’ll get a call. BUT he does kinda think it is basal cell carcinoma. I am afraid of googling this. Really, all this time I have not researched skin cancer(s), which is unusual for me because Google is as valuable to me as my right arm. I am too afraid. I am living in denial, although the hole in my head is doing a great job serving me as a reminder whenever I glance in a mirror.
He asked me if I spent a lot of time in the sun. The answer was, um, yes, because we are outdoor people. Outdoor people with outdoor kids, no less. He told me about some crazy people that put sunscreen on and then SUNBATHE. “It’s like putting gas in your car when there’s a hole in the tank,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it.
OH, I’ve never heard of people doing THAT (she writes, thinking back to all those lazy hours she spent in the sun during her recent trip to Jamaica.) Seriously, as a rule I don’t sunbathe. Who has time for that? And when I am in the sun (even while I was in Jamaica) I try to have my face shaded, whether it’s with a palm tree or a novel.
Anyway, I don’t want to get all preachy on ya’ll, but I’ve spoken to a number of women about this issue. I told them my head wound started as a flaky, raised, brownish spot right near my hairline. And get this, practically everyone I’ve spoken to either has one, or knows someone who has something similar. Is this you? It doesn’t necessarily mean the c-word, but you should go get it checked, okay?
