I guess I went about 60 years before ever visiting (interesting word choice) a dermatologist, a.k.a. skin doctor.
That was at the recommendation of my GP, a.k.a. General Practitioner, or my family doctor, located deep in South Philly, where I lived for a decade. This was known as my faux mob period, as I had certain connections to the underworld that I won’t dwell on.
Dr. Vince saw something on a body part that he didn’t “like the look of, ” and sent me packing to a skin doc. As it turned out, the thing Vince didn’t like was not cancerous.
That was the diagnosis on Wednesday, too, after the derm doc carved a chunk out of my forehead for an instant biopsy. (In this case “instant” was an hour, but I had the time to spare.)
Anyhow, over the years I have made semi-annual visits (there’s that word again) to the skin people, “just in case.”
Mostly I am examined by a vivacious, red-haired physician’s assistant who goes over me with a lighted magnifying glass, with the same intensity Half Pint uses when checking Nut Bag for ticks.
We both enjoy it.
The exam requires me to disrobe (that is high-faluting for get naked), which would have embarrassed me once upon a time, but after three marriages and numerous surgeries, modesty goes out the window.
And the physician’s assistant, whom I will call Alice, doesn’t embarrass easily, but she did insist I wear the paper gown with the opening in the back. You learn something new every day.
If she finds something she doesn’t “like the look of, ” she whips out an iPad and takes a photo of it, perhaps for future publication in a book of semi-celebrity skin eruptions. Or maybe not.
The last time I was in, the “something” was more worrisome than most, so I was asked to return to have the MD dig out a sample for evaluation. It could take up to four hours if it was bad news.
It was half of that, because the biopsy showed no cancer, although I must make a command appearance in three months for a check.
The other good news? I was told to avoid exercising for a week for fear of popping some of the stitches holding my forehead together.
Some days are just winners.
HAPPY WEDNESDAY !!!
YO PALLIE !
( figured that I would use all caps, incase your hearing / eyes were affected )
Glad all appears ( sic ) to be well. Did you get to color on your gown ? My dermatologist just tells me to wear ( clean ) shorts. He probably got that message from his mom, just as we all did.
No exercise. That also means, NO SLAPPING OF THE FOREHEAD ! Shish !
Tony
almost done the book. I’ll have to reread it. I haven’t found any hints of me in that thar book.
The book was done before we met (Stu says, slapping his head)
More than ten years ago. you’ve been sitting on this book that long ? ( Tony slapping Stu’s head )
Glad you are ok!
I had a suspiciously large growth on my face. Turned out it was my nose. Glad you got a clean bill of health. Just for fun, slap someone else’s forehead.
Are you volunteering?
Only if you buy lunch afterwards.
Mike Schmidt, who was diagnosed with 3rd stage melanoma some years ago teamed up with his employer to have sunscreen stations throughout the ballpark. He’s been an advocate for skin protection for years as I’m sure you’re aware. Glad to hear no problems.
Thanks, and this info was new to me. I hated Schmidt for years after he blew off my daughter asking for an autograph.
I always felt that Mike was a very serious person….kinda stiff. If you hear him now in the booth with McCarthy, but especially Kruk, he’s loosing up. He’s beginning to catch on, I believe, to Kruk’s dry humor. He laughing more instead of being so reticent. I enjoy both of their analyses and sense their strong competitiveness, their, at times, tense differences.
I think he learned his lesson about being aloof. He is good in the booth on Sunday’s.
Schmidt is a German, a race of people not know for their charm.
I apologize if I’ve offended anyone of German ancestry. Two of my grandchildren were born in Germany. They’re not known for their charm.