Humbled

Remember that one day in high school, the one where you go to the doctor and he's like "you have acne--let me give you drugs?" Well, that day never came for me as the perpetually clear-faced teenager. It came last Friday.

After achieving real adulthood--actually having medical insurance not offered by a university--and after vowing to take better care of myself, I decided to go to the doctor to check out some moles. Being as it is that cancer runs in my family and that I have worshipped the sun for the last 25 years, the responsible thing to do would be to have my skin checked out.  And since my life seems to not be going at all as planned, I figure skin cancer is the logical next step for me.  

So after a good 30 minutes in the waiting room, another 15 in the private room in which I was placed by the nurse, Dr. Benton walked in as I was sifting through his cabinets and looking behind his jars. He began asking the routine questions, looking through my medical history, and listening to my heart and lungs. When the reason for my visit came out as "skin," without skipping a beat he said:

 "Well, as you are well into your childbearing years..."

That first blow came suddenly and without warning. The second was to follow without even starting a new sentence. 

"it would not be wise to put you on acutane." He was intently inspecting every inch of my face with his eyes and fingers as he continued, "But I have several other options for you that should take care of your acne."

He then proceeded to prescribe me three medications and dole out instructions for using them. When the initial shock wore off, I regained enough composure to ask about my moles. He looked me over for about 15 seconds and said "Oh, you're fine."

I asked him about the mole on my right cheek. I asked about having it removed possibly.

"Right, right," he said in an understanding tone, "It IS awfully prominent isn't it. We can take care of that." And he proceeded to describe the procedure. 

A few moments later I was scheduling a couple follow up appointments to check on the efficiency of the acne meds and another to have a mole removed. I came into get my skin checked for cancer (what I thought was a very adult, "real person" thing to do) and left feeling like a pimple-faced teenager embarrassed by her visage and just hoping and praying that her acne would clear up before the prom.

In high school I was so grateful for my clear skin. I thought that I had cheated the system somehow. Little did I know that my awkward ugly stage wasn't in my past (well round 2, anyway), but awaited for me in the future. I hope this means I get to "blossom" at some point. I'm still holding onto that high school hope that there is a growth spurt waiting to happen in my chest. Fingers crossed.