Hey, life? Are you kidding me?

A New Pet Peeve

I know . . . .I was shocked too. How could I just now be discoering a new pet peeve when I've been exdposed to this world for 42 years . . . and yet, yesterday it happened. No, I'm not just gonna tell you. You must suffer through the whole story.

My primary physician tells me she wants me to see a dermatologist about a mole I have. Personally, I think she's a hypocondriac. She should see someone about that. This mole isn't new, it's been there for years. I mean I wouldn't mind getting rid of it; it's not like I'm "attached" (lol) to it, but do I really want to go see another doctor? No.

So my doctor treats me like a child. "Well, you can just cut it off yourself and see what happens." Smirk. Smirk. She's crazy. Clipping a hang nail is about the extent of my self-mutilation. I know you are thinking I just don't have to go. I'm an adult. Well, apparently my doctor (who I do really like, usually) is something of a control freak. Until I go, she won't sign off on my physical. I"m beginning to think she is in cahoots with this dermatologist and some major kick backs are taking place. But under great protest. . . . I go.

You need to understand two vital points before I go on.

1. I know we all pretty much think we have high pain tolerence, but I'm pretty sure of the fact I do. See, I'm a freak, a clutz - everything weird happens to me; I've come to take it with a grain of salt. Birth wasn't bad; having both my knees replaced at the same time wasn't really even that bad, biting clear through my tongue was gross, but it wasn't like I was screaming for morphine.

2. Oops, I forgot #2. Give me a second. Oh yeah! This mole is on my upper (very Upper), inner (very inner) thigh. If you are catching my drift. This will be a 'drop the drawers' appointment.

After filling out 5 pages of paperwork, half of which all asked the same questions, I went to wait at the receptionist desk to turn my homework in. I kept thinking this is a mole, not a heart transplant. Is it really necessary to know I had my tonsils out 6 years ago. While I'm still waiting, the nurse comes to the door and calls my name. I'm a little perplexed because I still have all my medical history, consent forms, and God knows what else (I'm glad He does, because I sure didn't read them.) But being the good patient, I take my nurse who is holding a folder with my name on it and give her my paperwork.

She's now confused, "You filled it out twice?"

Me: "Yes, it was so entertaining the first time." She misses the sarcasm.

"Oh my gosh, we put the wrong paper work in your file." This is funny to her, less reassuring to me.

Eventually, I get called back with my file and my paperwork. A different nurse comes in and asks me all the same questions i just filled out. I"m polite, even though part of me wants to give different answers to see if anyone will notice.

Enter Dr. Andes (name changed in case I ever want to use her again). She asks me again, these same questions. I smile and say, "I have a mole."

She seems excited by this. (Wow, I have got to start appreciating my job more.) "How about you drop those drawers, and we'll take a look."

Me: "Okey, dokey. Once you drop those blinds so people can't see in."

Dr.: We're around the back of the building, no one ever comes by there. And i'm pretty sure it's a one way window."

Me: I know we've just met, so you can't possibly know this, unles of course it's in a chart that nobody reads, but I am the most unlucky person in the world. So the moment I depants myself, I'm quite sure a landscaping crew will be touring the back of the building."

She closes the blinds.

She reenters with yet another nurse. This one looks maybe old enough to babysit my newphews.

Dr.: Ahhhh, I see it. Do you wanna just go ahead and remove it today?

I'm thinking I must not know the meaning of the word "consultation".

Me: Do you want to?

Dr.: I don't see why not. A numbing shot, and snip we're done.

This doesn't seem like the way things usually go wiht me, but obviously I have issues with saying no to doctors.

Dr.: Okay, this shot will feel a little like a bee sting. It's just to numb the area.

I brace myself. Pfffft that was nothing. That was the nicest bee I've ever met. Give me 3 of those suckers.

And then my ass comes flying off the table.

Me: What the hell is that 12 rapid hornets hungry for a mole?

Dr.: Oh, do you feel that?

Me: Well, yeah! You just now took the numbing needle out. Give the bee a little time to work.

Dr.: Sorry about that.

But do you know what? She doesn't stop. She keeps cutting. And tugging. And cutting.

Dr.: Wow, this goes deeper than I initially thought.

Me.: Hey, so, I don't have to pay for the numbing shot, right?

She laughs. Her teenage nurse laughs. Great, I'm a comedian with my legs open gripping a table that is too small for my butt in hopes that my mole of years will finally surrender. (Dang, I should have named him or her)

Dr.: Ahhh, there we go. We'll need a small bandaid for the area, Bambi. (the nurse, of course)

Now moles are disgusting enough looking when they are on you, but when they are in a little jar removed from you, they are vile. I'm thinking the jar should go somewhere other than beside my small table.

Bambi: Oh, I thought you meant a little bandaid - this is a bleeder. It must be more vascular than it looked.

Now, I know in my heart I'm pretty sure Iknow what vascular means, but I try to convince myself that it is a good thing. After all, it kinda rhymes with muscular.

What it means in this case is i'm gushing blood that they are having trouble stopping.

Dr.: We may have to cauterize it a bit.

I'm wondering what thismeans exactly when a machine is rolled in that looks like Freud might have used it to measure the effects on mental patients.

Great, I'm in my own horror movie; well technically I guess it could be horror/porn since my unclothed legs are spread and the ever-so-thick sheet fell off me about the time the hornets were feasting on my flesh.

The heat the metal tip of this monster up. I"m praying little bee has finally numbed me. And the Dr. lets Bambi have a try at it.

Bambi: Do you take aspirin?

Me: No thank you, but I could use a couple of shots of tequila right now.

She laughs. Of course. Well, why wouldn't she? We both know she's not old enough to serve alcoholic beverages. But thank you, World. She is old enough to burn me.

Bambi: I just asked because sometimes aspirin causes bleeding.

Me: Yeah, cutting a mole out does to.

I look over at the small table by my side. My mole is being kept company by several blood-filled gauze friends.

Bambi: You don't look so good. Are you okay? Is seeing the blood making you feel faint? Are you going to be sick?

It was uncanny how she could know this. Unless of course, she actually heard the gagging sounds emitting from my throat.

Me: Surprisingly, no. However, the smell of my own burning flesh is about to make me vomit in my mole jar. That won't effect it when they test it, will it?

Bambi: You have the best sense of humor. I'm sorry, I'm just having a little trouble getting it all to stop. I don't want you bleeding on your pants.

Dr.: Lay her back, let me give it a try.

More burning flesh. Mine. . . This went on for, well, a while. I swear I could taste the metal in my mouth. I know that sounds crazy. In fact, I can taste it even now as I think about it. Ughhhh.

Dr.: Whew, finally got it stopped. I guess we should have had you come back in for that.

Leaving is a blur. But for the record. I did still get blood on my pants. I didn't care though. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I waved at the landcaping crew feeling as if I had at least avoided one awkward moment in my life.


So my pet peeve? The smell of my own burning flesh. That, and chomping ice.




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