Pyogenic granuloma. Facial wonky boob.
This week has been filled with an unrequired tribulation. This time last week I had an appointment with a dermatologist for a strange lump on my lip The waiting room was crowded stuffy and run by middle age women and an overweight homosexual. The office had obviously been some conflict in the past about dishes not being cleaned, too much spoon stirring clanging against ceramic cups, or one particular menopausal bitch. There was a interoffice struggle to find who is the top of this pecking order in this cramped and sometimes flakey and irritated waiting room/reception. As I sit here on this plane, post mh370, next to a small man in a cheap suit listening to a soccer game without headphones I ask myself, what is the pecking order of this flight. With my “sometimes” controlling boyfriend who has taken my headphones in an effort to ignore me, due to me getting fully loaded in the lounge, it am now thinking to myself, who is top dog here? I’ve already pushed away my spouse, typing on a iflap isn’t going to win me the position of unapproachable dickhead. But yet, I still have a drink to spill on the strangers, cheap affordable lap.
Back to the results.
As turbulence kicks in and my nicotine spray has made me nauseous… earlier this week I had a new to the game, dermatologist tell me that I had skin cancer. This followed by the older dermatologist being called in for a second opinion. This is where my story of fear began. The older dermatologist, who I will call Sally, reached out with her bareback hand, arched her little finger pealed by lip back and had a feel around. I was paralysed. Sitting there with an old ladies finger touching the growth on the inside of my mouth I then began to think. How many skin disorders has this finger touched today? Is this her way of saying to herself, if I catch anything, heck… its only my pinky… Me on the other hand, had a dermatologists experienced finger jabbing at my money maker. I was at her mercy. In shock with the idea of having my lip removed because of a smoking related skin cancer. I was traumatised.
Hearing you have cancer and it being referred and related to you smoking was a moment I could have done without. The feeling of stupidity was very real. I felt bad. Leaving the practice with stitches and a numb lip I went home with my tail between my legs. This was then heightened by a phone call from my mother, who has worked for 45 years in the medical industry. She said as follows, “I am a woman of this world, you can tell me anything… Do you have HIV? Tthis could be HIV lesion, can I send you a photo or would that freak you out?”. Fear had spread throughout my body within a few heartbeats. This was round up with several minutes of back pedalling. My mind went into a paranoid state.
Then there is the wait.
The first 24 hours I was in shock. I knew that in no way was this life threatening. My real concern was the ‘margin’ that the doctor spoke about, which may or may not affect the way my lip looked. My vivid and wild imagination immediately drew a scene. I was catching the 286 bus from junky street Richmond. My bottom row of teeth exposed. Dry. The occasional duelling from my face window. I would have to sit in that situation until I could find the correct lighting and distance from people to feel comfortable. Vanity surpasses mortality in this instance. I don’t pretend to be down to earth. I have the same concerns as the pretty girl with the wonky left boob. I get all the attention but never puts out because of my dark hidden padded secret. But in this case my tits where on my face and it was wonky because of poor life decision.
In the end it was just a pyogenic granuloma? No cancer. Probably the biggest win in this was my work colleague and friend quit smoking on the spot after me telling a tragic story of having a smoking related cancer and her having to explain it to her children. So I’m off to the plastic surgeon and for life saving reconstructive facial surgery this week and never smoking again.
Keep it real guys.