This morning I went for my annual humiliation, also known as the full-body check at the dermatologist. At these fun, yearly visits, I have to stand in my undies under the brightest of all unflattering lights, while my every mole and freckle is inspected with a magnifying glass by a very capable doctor who, sadly, doesn’t understand the therapeutic effect of a sense of humor on the nervous woman standing in front of her in nothing but her underwear and the extra large paper towel they call a “modesty cloth”.
If you’ve ever seen me in person, you know that I am a human connect-the-dots game. I’m so speckled with freckles and moles, I’m polka dotted. These dots had been making me nervous for years so after I turned thirty, I decided that I should go see a dermatologist and make sure I was OK. Last year was my first visit with the dermatologist’s version of Mrs. Kim from Gilmore Girls – stern and quiet, no visible ability to quip, but still you like her for some reason. I had some moles that were a little suspicious that she wanted me to keep an eye on this past year, and today she decided that I had enough of these strange moles that she’d like to biopsy one, just for good measure. A little Novocaine, a little shaving of the cells, and I now have, what looks like a cigarette burn in the center of my lower back. In about I week I should know more about the mole she removed, and in about four to six weeks and I’ll have a new scar to apply Mederma to. Hopefully I’ll have a better fate than Dooce. Now remember – wear your sunscreen!