It’s time for your friendly neighborhood PSA about skin checks! Don’t’ click away. It’ll be fun. Also, you might not want to be eating right now.
I had to go see the dermatologist the other day to get a mole checked out. Don’t go “ew” or anything, it wasn’t that gross. I hate to spoil the surprise, but the twins did not get their glorious olive skin tone from me. I’m pretty much your typical white girl: pale and splotchy and freckly.
I’m a pretty staunch sunblock user, except when I’m not. I’ve been using moisturizer with sunscreen since I was a teenager, and when I’m out in the sun, I use the kids’ SPF 75 on my face and neck to be safe. I usually use SPF 30 on my body, sometimes even the 75. But sometimes I forget if I end up spending unexpected time outside, and I often forget to reapply.
I noticed some changes in a little spot that’s always been on my back as far as I can remember. When I looked at it a few weeks ago, it looked a little larger and a little misshapen. It was hard to see, so I called Christian in to have a look. I’m telling you, I know how to bring romance to the bathroom, hey-o!
I was a little nervous about the appointment. I’m one of those people who’s always afraid that while I look and feel completely healthy, there’s something evil brewing within me that will go completely overlooked until a doctor takes some freak random test and then we find that I have a week to live out the rest of my life, and I’ll be forced to cram a lifetime’s worth of love into 7 measly days.
But seriously, if I had only a week to live, I would probably just move into Gourgough’s and gorge on Miss Shortcakes every hour on the hour. (Have you been there? Most delicious and ginormous doughnuts. It’s insane.)
So I needed to focus on the positive. What’s GOOD about a trip to the dermatologist in which you may find out you’re about to meet your demise via a large freckle?
I know. I sound crazy. But this waiting room had three things I adore: quiet (as in the absence of children, including my own), forms to fill out (I’m a freaking whore for forms!!!), and Alex Trebek. And I believe the question you’re looking for is “What is a big old nerd, Alex?” Ah, yes. Embarrassing confessions for $1000.
It’s always nice to visit a place with friendly staff who will tell you that from your description, it’s not entirely necessary to start making arrangements for your upcoming demise. And they don’t heave at the site of your back fat when they have to take photos of your questionable spots. It’s the little things.
Also, I’m at that age where I think it’s incredibly weird and a tad unsettling to have doctors who are my age. Like we’re sitting there, eye to eye, talking about my skin, and I’m thinking This could so totally be me if I was smarter and had a slightly overwhelming fascination with epidermis.
Two words: Paper shirt
Behold this high fashion masterpiece with it’s crisp (but not overly so!), yet soft papery texture and edgy pink color that makes my pale skin really shine in all it’s washed out glory. Rear ventilation not pictured.
Honestly, it felt a little wasteful to throw that baby in the trash afterwards, but it was either that or end up in a highly uncomfortable situation in which the paper shirt would inevitably fall out of my purse while I’m pulling out my wallet to make a follow up appointment, and we’d all just kind of stand there and stare at the floor where it fell and then I’d just kick it under a table and go on like nothing had happened.
After the appointment, I’m pretty sure that my spots were nothing to worry about. The dermatologist did take some samples, which now kinda look like someone just carved out a hole in my back and now I’m wondering why they didn’t just remove the whole damn thing? But I’ll hear the results back in a week or so. Sorry I don’t have gross pictures of my moles, but I didn’t think to take my own, and asking the nurse to email them to me just seemed a little odd even if I did tell her I was totally going to blog this. I’m sure she hears that all the time.