Frozen

I almost never go to the doctor unless it's an emergency. When you go under stress conditions, like a mangled finger or a machete chop to the leg, you get a different experience than going in for a check up.

Last week I went to a dermatologist to get a spot, that had suddenly appeared on my chest, looked at. I hadn't given the spot much thought until I sat down in the doctor's office next to a poster. The poster described the cancer melanoma, complete with pictures. The pictures looked exactly like the spot on my chest. Great, now I was worried.

The doctor, who thought he was some sort of comedian, gave it a quick look. He also checked other areas that were suspicious. His attempt at humor put me at ease about it being a serious situation. Like I said, I'm usually at the doctor for emergencies so I'm not in the habit of questioning what the doctor is doing. I now realize that asking questions is what your suppose to do at a check up. Live and learn right?

Without much fan fare he told me the spot would come and go and he would just go ahead and take care of it now. He rolled himself out of the room on his stool and rolled himself back in with a super sized cotton swab and a metal jug trailing behind him also on wheels. The jug had smoke coming out the top. He never said what he was going to do but it was easy to figure out that he was going to freeze the spot. This is where I should have asked a few questions, I didn't.

He took the frozen cotton swab and placed it to my chest. I sat quietly as he ground it into my skin. I never moved or mentioned how much it felt like he was sticking a dagger into my chest. Then he asked me to turn my head and he touched the cotton swab to a place on my face. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!!" I thought to myself as I sat motionless. Then he touched another spot near my eye. When he was done he told me to use some antibacterial ointment and band-aids as necessary. "Why the hell would I need a band-aid?" I said, again to myself, as I followed the doctor to his office as instructed.

As he filled out his paper work he told me that people with my complexion don't need to be in the sun, at all. I thought how ridicules a statement that was as I nodded my head at him in agreement. He then gave me a catalogue full of clothes to wear during the summer months. These clothes cover every square inch of skin. I'll never, ever, buy or wear something like that, I thought, as I thanked him for the book and stuck it in my pocket.

Then he handed me the bill and said, "that's it" with a smile on his face. I shook his hand and started to leave when, seemingly off the cuff, he said, "You shouldn't have anything to worry about. I think we got it in time." My mind shifted gears and I was trying to figure out what he meant by that. Got what in time? Worry about what? Is there more I need to know here? These are all the questions I didn't ask as I just turned and headed to the cashier. I was now more concerned than before I saw him.

A day later two spots, the size of an Eggo waffle, (ok not that big but any mark on your face feels 10 times bigger than it is) formed on the side of my face where the doctor had worked. It oozed liquid and turned black. It was like a black hole that sucked peoples' vision so strong they were powerless to look away, even when I caught them staring. Thank the Lord I wasn't planning to do anything important like a modeling photo session... or something.

So now I'm waiting for half my face to peel off so people will stop looking at me like I have something on my face, which I do. I'm left wondering why the doctor didn't tell me the whys and the whats of what he was doing. Worse, I can't figure out why I went to a doctor for answers and allowed myself to leave with more questions than I came with. I guess it's one of those things you get better at with practice. So the next time I go I'm going to ask more questions and this time I might even say them out loud.