So, I had a follow-up appointment today with a plastic surgeon. No, no, dear reader--I am not one of those vain folk who seek to alter their appearance. I am what I am--as Popeye said. But part of what I am is fair-skinned. German genes and all, I have red hair, blue eyes, and pale skin that only freckles (and burns if I am not careful).
That makes me obsessive about taking care of unexplained spots that appear and refuse to go away. I am careful to go to a dermatologist annually. A couple of years ago, I had a small spot under my right eye--I asked the dermatologist about it. He was dismissive--oh, it's nothing. But it stayed. I persisted, asking my family doctor about it. Eventually, when I got to a specialist who paid attention to my concern, it turned out to be a basal cell carcinoma, which had to be excised. So, obsessiveness pays off.
BUT, it can also be a bit embarrassing. Recently, I noticed two small spots on my face. Hmmm, could these be nascent basal cells again? So, I quickly made an appointment with a plastic surgeon. Last week, he did a punch biopsy (giving my husband endless amusement just to get me to say PUNCH biopsy). Today, I got the results.
A keratosis and a plain old flat wart. A wart? Really? It certainly did not look like any wart I had ever seen. But, it did embarrass me. Taking up the time of a plastic surgeon just to find out I had a wart.
Harrumph! And, embarrassed. But, but, but--I am very careful about not neglecting a budding skin cancer.
Sigh. . .
Oh, well--at least it gives me something to say at the Thanksgiving table--I am thankful that I don't have skin cancer.