Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Where I Die From Embarrassment

So, I've been meaning forever to make an appointment to see a dermatologist, because I haven't seen one in about 7 years. The first time I went I was 24 years old and I didn't have any specific concerns at that time per se. However, as a fair-skinned person with freckles who tans often, I know it's only a matter of time before a problem arises. But my doctor thought I was crazy for coming in. You're so young, do you have any areas you're concerned about? Yeah, here's the thing, guy, I don't know what I should be concerned about and I have a million little moles and freckles so you tell me.

He told me to come back in 5 years. So 7 years later, I finally get a referral from my usual doctor for a new dermatologist. I decide that I need to see someone because I now actually do have some spots I'm worried about. And one happens to be on my left nipple. There's only a a couple of places that I'm embarrassed about showing my male doctors and this would be one of them. I know it's a highly unlikely place to develop skin cancer, but it is possible, particularly when you've done as much tanning as I have. I mean women get very normal bumps on the ol' nips but this one concerned me.

So while waiting in the exam room for the dermatologist, they send in the intern, who was probably all of 25 years old and he takes my history, blah, blah, problem areas, blah, left nipple. And then I notice all the color has drained from the intern's face and he starts stammering that he needs a chaperone. I was all like, seriously, relax, I'm not going to just whip my boob out unannounced or anything.

He leaves and brings with him the male doctor that I was actually scheduled to see and a female resident. All of them and their microscopes and my boob. There was much scruntinizing. One of the many moments in my life where I was hoping the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

The good news is that there's no problem. The boob thing has some long fancy name that basically means not-a-problem. The bad news is that they did laser off a couple of things on my hand, things not related to skin cancer fortunately, but now those lasered spots are hot pink and burning.

I wonder if I can leave work because my hand looks like it's radioactive?


At 11:55 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tee hee. You said boob. And nipple.

This must be the day I turn into a 12-year-old boy.


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