I have always hated going to the Dermatologist. Ever since I was an awkward teen, prone to breakouts, I had to make the bi-annual trip to the big D. It was the one day that I had to walk out of my house, completely bare-faced and I hated it! My biggest fear was that we'd run into a cute boy I knew from school on our way, or even worse, in the doctor's office. Then, he would see the real ME up close and personal! Ugh.
As I got older, I still hated the dermatologist because now I was in my 20's and still fighting acne. It was even more embarrassing to walk into the examination room and have the doctor take a second look, maybe even a bit puzzled ... like he was expecting someone, er, perhaps a little younger.
Then, I hit 30 and the visits still continued. Stress, Pregnancy, Post-pregnancy and MS had all had their way with me that decade and it showed up on my face!
What really sucks is when you have to go the dermatologist in your 40's. There was something about hormones and pre-menopause that was wreaking havoc on my chin, turning it into a frickin' battlezone. Thank God for a little miracle drug called Spironolactone that has given me new hope and a newfound sense of self esteem. My chin no longer looks like a big ol' red volcano oozing with lava! Gross, I know!
But, do you want to know what really, really sucks? Going to the dermatologist for your yearly, routine body scan and having her ask in a very serious tone, "how long has this pink spot been on your back?" I wasn't really prepared for what she said next. I mean, I was just there on an obligatory visit, squeezing this appointment in between 2 others on a workday afternoon. I was busy. I would have gladly traded a full face of zits, in front of a cute boy nonetheless, for the news she was about to give me. Funny how your biggest fears change as you get older.
I've had body scans in the past, I've had moles burned off, bumps shaved down and the tip of my nose biopsied. But, this time it was different. She wanted to schedule surgery. She wanted to take a big ol' football-shaped slice out of my back and sew it up with a bunch of stitches. She called it basal cell carcinoma which we all know is just a fancy name for cancer.
The silliest things came into my mind. How will I wear my favorite dress style - the halter - with a big, ugly scar on my back? Were my summer days, lounging by the pool, over for good? What about boating, rafting or kayaking? Could I still do these things or would I be banned to a life of boring indoor activities and pasty skin? Then, the real questions started to surface...What if they don't get it all and it spreads? What if I die before I turn 50? What if I don't get to see my kids get married or see their kids? The list was endless. And, I couldn't let me my mind go there...
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