Last night I looked over my calendar and was happy to see that over two weeks had passed since my appointment when the doc biopsied a mole on the back of my leg. Happy because I was told that if something showed up, they would call me within two weeks. If all was clear, they would send me a letter but that probably wouldn’t get to me for almost three weeks.
In fact, I was going to post on facebook that the doc had created a divot in my leg for nothing. I should add to that by explaining that while I thought they had just scraped off a bit of the mole, I discovered after it finally started to heal up that they carved that fucker like a jack-o-latern. Yes, there is a divot in my leg. One could place a golf ball on the back of my ankle and tee off without a problem.
As you’ve probably already figured by now, the letter that should say the scribed tissue was normal will not come. Instead I got a phone call just this morning that went like this:
*annoying cell phone ring because there isn’t a normal one on my phone*
“This is Yo-yo Mama.” I answer this way in case it’s my future employer. Normally I would answer, “Whaddup, Bitch?”
“Yo-yo, this is Nurse Stoic at Dermatology’s clinic. Dr. Drapenscrape would like to see you to discuss the results of your biopsy.”
“So. I take it, it’s not good news.”
“Dr. Drapenscrape will go over the details with you. Will Thursday morning work for you?”
A decade of employment with the healthcare system combined with four years of negative beta calls from an RE clinic is enough experience to know that when a nurse calls to ask you to come in to speak to a doctor, that the news is not good. So as far as how bad things are? Well, I’ll know more Thursday.
The mole itself appears to be out, but has very small margins. Commonly, more cutting will be necessary. I might even get myself some KY jelly that’s been nuked by Chernobyl to smear on my divot. Maybe I can act really pathetic and get a script for medicinal merijewanna?
I’m sure that everything will be fine. No one ever dies of skin cancer, right?*
*The first person who tells me otherwise will be haunted by my divoted leg that is also spouting some very unsexy stubble as it’s pretty difficult to shave one side of a leg divot’s scab without running the razor into the other side.