I met with my dermatologist last Monday. It was a follow up appointment to one I had in January. I wrote most of this blog after that first visit. This is simply an update.
When I met with the dermatologist I was scheduled for a full body inspection, so I made sure I wore my best underwear. I had to answer about a billion questions through an electronic set of documents that they provided in advance of my visit. I had an 8:20 appointment and things progressed very smoothly. I was taken to an examination room by an attractive lady in her early forties. When I asked her position, she replied, “Today I’m doing intake, tomorrow assisting surgery and Wednesday I report to our Leesburg office.”
And then I said, “So you’re a utility player.”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
She had the results of my questionnaire on a tablet and reviewed some of my answers with me. When she was done, she gave me a paper gown and said, “This is our one size fits none gown. Please strip down to a level you’re comfortable with and put it on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I’m a pretty fast stripper so it didn’t take me long to get down to my tighty-whities. She was right. The gown was a joke. It might have fit a six-year-old child, but not a seventy-seven-year-old senior citizen. Once it was on, I sat back down on the exam table and waited.
Five minutes later there was a cursory knock on the door and three people entered: the original lady, a second even more attractive forty-something female and a young man in his twenties. I asked the new arrivals what their roles were. The new lady introduced herself as Lesley and told me she was a PA. “You won’t see Dr. Smith unless you need surgery.”
“Well, then I hope I never see him.”
After that Lesley introduced the twenty-something as a medical student doing his first internship. The young man shook my hand and asked if he could stay to observe my exam. As a former educator I want everyone to keep on learning, so I said. “Sure. No problem.”
Lesley produced a magic light with a magnifying glass and began to scan my face. As she scanned, she asked if I had any areas, other than my nose, that concerned me. I didn’t. She felt the texture of the dry spot on the bridge and said, “This isn’t cancer, but I’ll zap it with liquid nitrogen, so it doesn’t become a larger issue.”
As soon as she stopped speaking, the young intern said, “May I touch it?” I looked at him quizzically and he continued. “May I touch your nose. We’re taught in school to ask before touching.”
“Touch away.”
After Lesley examined my face, she went to the top of my head and pulled my hair apart looking for abnormalities. She found one. “This is probably nothing, but we should do a biopsy just in case. I’ll take a sample when I finish your body scan.”
She examined my hand and arms. After zapping a couple spots on my arms, she lowered the gown to look at my chest and worked her way around to my back. All clear.
As she moved down to my legs, she pulled the gown up. All that was left was a ball of paper sitting on my lap. When she asked me to stand up, it fell to the floor. I found myself dressed only in my underwear, and thankful that I’d worn my best pair.
When she completed the exam of my legs, she asked me to sit down. She returned to the top of my head, took a picture of the suspicious spot, scraped a sample and then showed me the picture. It looked a bit like an outline of Italy.
When they finished, she said, “We’ll give you some privacy so you can get dressed.” I thought to myself, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes with three strangers, clad only in my BVDs and now I’m getting some privacy.
Modesty be damned.
When I was getting ready for my most recent visit, I decided to dress for success. Last January I wore long pants because it was cold. I wore shorts on Monday because it was warm. I also went sockless. I wore a pair of slip-on shoes, a t-shirt, gray shorts and a pair of brand new tighty-whities.
My prep was influenced by last January’s visit. I thought I’d undergo a similar routine and end up being clad in a paper gown and my underwear. Shortly after I arrived, I was escorted to a room by an intake worker. She wasn’t as cute as the one I had last January but she was equally informative. She asked a few questions and proceeded to the business at hand.
“You’re wearing shorts, so you can just remove your shoes and shirt. Would you like a gown?” I declined. I briefly reviewed my experience with my January gown and said, “It won’t be necessary,”
“I’ll step out and tell Lesley we’re ready.” About three minutes later my intake worker and Lesley, the PA, arrived. There were no introductions, the two of them got right to the business of zapping my body. They started with my forehead and moved around my entire skull. They moved from there to my chest and back, followed with all four limbs, and then to the top of my head.
There were numerous zaps with the liquid nitrogen. I tried to keep count but got lost during the process. I asked if they kept track. They did. “We zapped twenty-lesions”. I didn’t’ like the sound of “lesions”. And then she said, “But no biopsies. I don’t recall the last time we didn’t take a biopsy on a patient.”
When I got home, I did a little studying. Skin lesions are any area of your skin that’s abnormal from the skin around it.
I never thought I’d say this, but I’m happy to deal with the lesions. I think the fact that I didn’t need a biopsy is a step in the right direction. I just need to stay on that path.
As for my prep, I’ll be wearing shorts for all of my appointments. No more paper gowns for me.