My Procedure

I had to have a "procedure" today.

For most people it would have been an ordinary trip to the dermatologist, but I am not most people. As one of my Speech/Drama professors in college told me-"You are one of those people who would want to die of a lingering disease like leukemia or cancer because it would be a sickness so filled with drama." This was in 1982-even before the term "Drama Queen" was coined and I was being called a "Drama Queen." I don't think there was any particular incident; I suppose it must be a vibe I give.

When the spot showed up on my nose it just looked like what I like to call a "blemish." Zit, pimple-God forbid-wart- all sounded so gross on my nose. Then, the spot became dry and would sometimes bleed. This went on for about two years. It really hasn't gotten any worse; it actually hasn't changed that much. I actually made an appointment with the Dermatologist about six months ago and then I had to cancel due to a scheduling conflict, so I wasn't really worried. As my second appointment date approached this July, I developed anxiety about this spot on my nose. My anxiety heightened when I would casually mention that I was going to the doctor about this and my friends, with a concerned look, would say, "Oh you really need to have that checked."
Of course, I wanted to scream-"I am having it checked-that's what I just told you!"
When appointment day arrived I went in to the exam room where the nurse told me to disrobe and wear the gown so the doctor could give me the full body skin check. I reminded her I was there mainly for the spot on my nose. She gave me the-"mmmm" sound and then started asking me a series of questions about the health of my family members. I just knew that she was thinking my daddy's gout or my mother's breast cancer had something to do with this spot on my nose-that this was all hereditary-it had to be a death sentence.

My doctor, this small cute young woman with fair and pretty skin, came in looked me over and said my skin looked pretty good. She didn't see too much sun damage. I felt like this was pretty good news considering I was a baby oil and iodine goddess in my youth. I reminded her about the spot on my nose. She looked at it and did the-"furrowed eye-brow and mmmm sound" combo that only a doctor can do. "I really want to get that off. And we will do it today-here in the office. It will be very simple and painless. I'll just give you a little shot to numb the spot and I will shave a small amount off. We will have the results in a few days; I don't really expect anything more than a Basel Cell Carcinoma. It can probably be treated with a cream. If it is any deeper we may have to do a little bit more in depth-but nothing that will be noticeable." she said.

Now, a neurotic like me hears-"OH MY GOD-THAT HAS TO COME OFF-RIGHT NOW! I AM GOING TO HAVE TO PUT YOUR NOSE UNDER-IT WILL BE A SHOT-TO YOUR NOSE-IT WILL BE PAINFUL AND I WILL HAVE TO PERFORM SURGERY TO TAKE A BIOPSY FROM YOUR NOSE TO SEE IF YOU HAVE CARNCINOMA-DID YOU HEAR ME CARCINOMA-CANCER. IT WILL BE A FEW DAYS BEFORE I KNOW YOUR RESULTS SO I WANT YOU TO GO HOME TAKE CARE OF YOUR WOUND, GET YOUR AFFAIRS IN ORDER AND SPEND THESE VERY IMPORTANT DAYS WITH YOUR FAMILY. YOU ARE GOING TO NEED THOSE AROUND YOU WHO LOVE YOU. I WILL NEED ALL OF YOUR NUMBERS SO THE MINUTE THE LAB RUSHES THESE RESULTS TO ME-I CAN CALL YOU TO GIVE YOU YOUR DIAGNOSIS AND MORE IMPORTANTLY YOUR PROGNOSIS.

Julie, the nurse, was so comforting; she held my hand. I heard the vibrating noise of the instruments she was using to perform this surgery. Only to realize when Julie asked if I needed her to hand my phone to me-that it was my phone ringing on vibrate. She knew I thought it might be one of my children calling.

I waited for a big ta-da moment, but then I realized my procedure was over in a matter of seconds. She put a band-aid over my wound. I wore it proudly everywhere I went that afternoon. I had to wear the badge of my disease. She told me I should wear it until the next day.

When I took the band aid off the next day I had to get my reading glasses to see the mark on my nose. Sometimes even we drama queens realize when we've made a tumor out of a 'mole' hill.