Healing nicely.

And yes, my hair is a bloody mess because I was trying to get it out of my wound. Pretty soon we’ll be able to call it a scar.

Still yourselves and listen, chirruns, to the wisdom from a soon to be 59 year old crone…

Old women just know things.

Or is it because they’ve been there, done that?

This particular old woman liked the sun when she was young. Practically lived by the pool and at the beach. OH and there was much work to do on the farm…none of it inside the house. The long horseback rides… and I loved being slightly burnt. That radioactive glow really gave me a kick.

Though my memory isn’t what it should be, nobody ever mentioned SPF anything.

But then I could be passing the buck.

This was my fourth MOHS surgery. Whenever the dermatologist finds something on my pale skin that looks not quite right, he biopsies it.  When cancer shows up I go back in for the MOHS.

During Mohs surgery, thin layers of cancer-containing skin are progressively removed and examined until only cancer-free tissue remains. Mayo Clinic.

They’ve been a year apart lately. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished my Viking/Celtic ancestors had been black or olive skinned instead.

Passing the buck again.  Story of my life.

Anyway, there is a moral to this story and I’m sure you get it. If you don’t, at least I and that waiting room full of fellow tanned crones sure do.

I went in for a yearly physical (they used to call it ‘well woman’) couple weeks ago. The Nurse Practitioner who usually saw me had been sacked so the Actual Doctor and I met.

Hate when that happens. The NP and I had carved out our 10 minute-at-a-time friendship over years. We laughed, we cried. She was fast and honest and not afraid to listen or call me out on silly bullshit. And isn’t that what everyone needs?

Continue reading “So This Happened.” →