Jackie Wells-Fauth
I have always avoided doctors when possible, especially when they wanted to cut into me. This has been a strict policy which has been harder to stick to the older I get. It seems like every time I consult with the doctor these days, they want to pull out the knives (they call them scalpels, just to throw you off) and correct issues, many of which have been long neglected.
I encountered this recently when a skin growth turned out to have some cancer on it. After that was removed, it was decided that all of my skin should be checked. If you have ever had this done, then you know any remaining mystery on your body is over; there are no secrets left once this examination is complete. This is both a relief and a discomfort.
It was determined that I had two places where I had the beginnings of skin cancer and therefore, they needed to be removed. One was beside my eye and the other on my chest bone. The doctor informed me that these are due to a lack of coverage from the sun.
Now, this was hard for me, because most of my life, I have fought diligently to keep myself covered. The reason, of course, is because I am a redhead and redheads do not tan. We either remain as white as Dracula in candlelight or we burn like a lobster in boiling water!
Covering up in the sun presents problems. Large, shady hats are really very helpful or perhaps even an umbrella would be nice. In South Dakota, however, the fate of most large, shady hats and umbrellas is annihilation with the first gentle “breeze” that comes along. I have been slapped in the face by many a hat brim and had many an umbrella lose its life to a gust of enthusiastic wind. In every case, it failed to protect my face.
As for my chest, I admit, light shirts in the summer are usually scoop-necked and not inclined to remind me that my chest skin is then exposed to the unforgiving rays of the sun—until it’s too late and I have fried like a fish in hot oil. The fact that these two areas are where the skin cancer is tells me that all those years of covering up in the summer like a Ninja on assassination assignment probably helped the rest of me, but I still have my Achilles heel—or two!
That leads to going “under the knife” to get rid of the offending spots. To make it more fun, I have to do them on two separate occasions, but this week, I finally got the chest infection removed. It reminded me of the dentist’s office in that you sit in a chair and they are working over you. The difference, I found, was that I was able to respond to conversation on this occasion because the equipment was on my chest, not in my mouth.
They worked up close, which made me regret the garlic I had with lunch and made me wish I could stop the burping and gurgling noises my stomach was making. I waited, fatalistically, for someone to say, “Oops” and while I never heard that, I heard, “Boy, you bleed well,” a couple of times. I gave them my standard reply: “Everyone has to have a hobby.”
Once she was done, she put a bandage on it, announcing, “This bandage is way more bad-ass than it needs to be.” Upon reflection, however, I decided I liked bad ass. So, for the rest of the day, every time I noticed someone looking at my bandage, I volunteered, “I was in a knife fight in a bar downtown. I won.”
Since the doctor tells me that anything beyond a 30 in sunscreen is just showing off and not worth it, I suppose I’ll be back to buying wide-brimmed hats and umbrellas and praying for calm days in South Dakota. In the meantime, I go back under the knife for the second spot on my face—wonder what story I can come up with for that!
dropsinthewell 