To the Dermatologist!

About a year ago, Mimi's constant harassment finally got me motivated to make an appointment with a dermatologist. She had been to this guy previously, and while he was billed as a cantankerous old man, he was supposed to be really good. So I agreed.

I set up my appointment for the week of July 4. The lady on the phone confirmed that I would be around that week, and on my agreement set the date.

About a week before the appointment she called back. Well, guess what? After pinning me down on the date, now it turns out the doc is going to be on vacation. So she left a message for me to call back and schedule an appointment.

Which I did. Fully 10 months later! When I got the next nice lady on the phone she asked me for the old appointment date. I told her July 6. She looked and looked and couldn't find me. Oh! Right! I said. July 6, 2006. Silence. Yeah - took me a while to get around to rescheduling. Turns out they don't keep records that long, so she took my word for it and I got scheduled for June 29, almost exactly a year late.

The nice thing was I had already filled out all my forms, so when the day came all I had to do was show up. Mimi had prepped me with many warnings. It'll take forever. He's really brusque. No bedside manner, etc. I was agonizing over how I would play it. As the nicest guy ever and highlight his behavior via contrast? Or give as good as I got? Naturally I decided I'd play it by ear.

Registration was easy. I simply handed in my forms. But as she was reviewing them she called me over. How old are you? She asked. As I'm thinking up my reply (honestly after I hit 30 I never really paid attention to my age. I seriously have to figure it out every time someone asks) I look past her to my sheet where it declares I'm 40. But of course I'm not 40. I'm 41.
That's odd. I'm generally pretty good at subtraction. How'd I make that mistake? Oh yeah! I filled in the form a year ago!! I was 40 back then. I didn't bother to explain this to her, just said 41 and got admitted.

When the doc came in he was the absolute personification of caring old doctor. How are you? Warm handshake. Some small talk. If he didn't have a name tag I would have wondered who I got. He was great.

He asked me the reason for my visit. "Nagging wife" was my response. He liked that one. Then he took a look at the spots on my face that Mimi had sent me in for. I was sure they were just age spots, freckles, whatever. Not exactly. Turns out it's AK (Actinic Keratoses). Oh hell. I don't know what's worse: that I have a skin condition, or that Mimi was right all along. Damn!
The friendly doc goes on, in his early stage dementia manner, that this is what they call pre-cancer. OK. Well, I guess it's better than post cancer. Which means you're dead. Or a 5 time Tour De France winner. But I think the odds of the second case are somewhat lower.

So my skin has been damaged from the burning rays of the sun. So what's the treatment? Well burn it off, of course! Why didn't I think of that? And what is he going to use to burn it off? Something cold, naturally. It struck me that I was going to have a hard time explaining this to the kids. I could already see the confusion on their faces.
I thought you said he burned it off?
I did
But don't you use heat to burn?
And isn't cold the opposite of heat?
If they're opposites, how can they both burn?
Ummmm

Well the doc steps out for a sec, then strolls back in with what looks like a hand-held propane torch. Only it's not propane, it's liquid nitrogen in the tank. "This is going to sting a bit" he mentions as if the thought just now struck him (after doing this for what would appear to be the better part of 100 years). Then comes the Coors Silver Bullet train straight into my face. Yeah. That stings just a bit.

He nails me twice on the face, then once on the back. I ask what happens next. Oh, nothing. They just fall off.

Oh great. Now I've got to be careful eating lest a part of what-was-once-my-face falls into my soup. I feel like a leper-wannabe. I take a look in the mirror and can already see the skin bubbling up under the freckles. Lovely. And I have to go to work now. For a series of 1-1 meetings. Wonder if I can stop by the costume shop and pick up an elephant-man mask on the way. "I am not an animal!!"

So the moral of the story? Wear sunscreen. And a hat. And spf 50 clothing. And never go outside. Revel in your pallid countenance. Milky white is the way to go!!!!