Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Somehow, someway, this is funny:

That I have a black dermatologist. It strikes me as funny that a guy with skin as opposite mine as you can get is advising me on crucial skin care. Kevin and I walked into our appointment yesterday, poster children for the dermatological profession, and the doctor is black. Come to find out, though, he has a greater risk for melanoma sneaking up on him. He explained this to me at great length, which made me fall in love with him. I fall in love with any doctor that answers my questions at great length. I do NOT like doctors who show their annoyance at my 55 billion questions.

He used the nitro gun and zapped numerous spots on my arms. I look a teeny bit like my arms are covered in blisters. It's really pretty, lemme tell ya. AND I have a prescription for this cream that I have to apply daily for a week or two to all the parts of my body that get regular sun exposure. If there is any pre-cancer on any of those parts, the cream will essentially sizzle them to bits. Sizzle, seer, and scab. Therefore, I will not be taking a family portrait anytime soon. Sheesh. We go back in a couple weeks to have various protrusions sliced off our skin. Kevin more than me. Start praying now, because the last time they did this, the cutter/dermatologist accused Kevin of having a bleeding disorder. That's not what you want to discover right after they've hacked a two-foot crater into the flesh on your back.

I did not go back to the guy I saw last year. My dermatologist needs to impress my socks off since this is the guy that will probably, in the next forty years, save my life. The guy I saw last year sent his PA out to look me over. I'm not against PAs, but I much prefer the real MD. Plus, that particular PA didn't talk enough. I'm all about the talking. And the sense of humor. And, as Kevin noticed, the "Rainman"-like qualities that somehow we both find comforting in physicians. Doesn't hurt that they had free Atomic Fireballs at the counter on the way out. Kevin had one and I got to hear about it all the way home as it burned the first two layers off the inside of his mouth.

Did you know you can get melanoma on your eyeballs? I didn't. But my new, nitro-gun-bearing, "Rainman"-like, pleasantly-talkative, life-saving, funny, black dermatologist informed me it is so. So... get your eyes checked once a year! And your skin. And teeth. And cholesterol. And boobs. And other private parts. And maybe, just maybe, if you don't get hit by a truck while you're out jogging, you'll live long enough to die of old age.
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