A bird shitting on you equals good luck, right? I hope so because my Mohs surgery to remove a basal cell carcinoma from the right side of my nose – bordering the bridge, an unfortunate location – is scheduled for tomorrow morning.
I was talking with a friend in the parking lot after dropping our boys off at camp this morning and a bird shit on me. Just like that. I looked up at my friend and said, “a bird just shit on me” and we laughed. What else was I supposed to do? I got a tissue from my car, wiped the shit off my shirt and then my friend was kind enough to share a tale about a bird shitting on her in an outdoor bar once upon a time, which I really appreciated, even if it wasn’t true. At least the bird didn’t shit on my face because I don’t care what anyone says, there is no way that would be considered good luck. In fact, I’m sure it would be bad luck. Almost as bad as this motherfucking basal cell carcinoma – which certainly isn’t going to kill me, but it can do some pretty hefty damage if not fully removed and the process to fully remove it stinks – right smack in the middle of my face. But bird shit on my shirt? Ok, I’ll take it as a sign of good luck.
All joking aside, I really do believe the cancer part of this thing will be fine. If you’re going to get skin cancer, let’s face it – get it? let’s FACE IT – basal cell carcinoma is the kind you want to get. I’m lucky. At the same time, I also realize it will be important for me to be more vigilant about my health care in general and to see my dermatologist regularly from here on out, and I will, because apparently once you get one of these motherfuckers, your chance of getting another one – or another kind, maybe a not so good kind – increases.
As I get ready for tomorrow, however, I admit I’m feeling pretty wimpy about it. I might have researched Mohs a little too thoroughly and also the motherfucker is in the middle of my face. Did I tell you that already? I’m not looking forward to the anesthesia shots I’ll be getting in my nose and surrounding area. I wish I hadn’t read about that part. People on the Internets make it sound like a horribly unbearable thing, worse than giving birth and I know that can’t be true because I’ve done that. Twice. I’m sort of worried about the surgeon being all up in my face too. I hate that. I mean really, really hate it. I’m mostly worried about how much of my nose will have to be cut away and whether the Mohs-trained surgeon is skilled enough to handle the reconstruction he has mapped out or if I should have lined up a plastic surgeon for that part. Damn you, Google. I think I’m realistically prepared for what things will be like immediately following, but I’m pretty surprised by how worried I am about the long term cosmetic results. It’s not like me to care so much, but it IS my face, after all, so I’m giving myself a pass for having these uncharacteristic vain concerns. I kind of wish I could be asleep for the next week or so, or have a glass of wine at least, but I’m just going to have to suck it up and I will. So anyway, thanks for letting me ramble on about this a little. I’m really not freak-out-scared, just kind of depressed-scared. It will pass. Always does. And true to form, I’m expecting THE WORST so I’ll be fully prepared for when it happens, or relieved when it doesn’t, whichever. I did talk to my primary care doctor a little while ago and I feel better knowing he thinks I’m in good hands and all will be well.
True to form once again, I spent most of the day cleaning my house with my one and only cleaning companion, Bruce Springsteen, turned up LOUD so I couldn’t think, and also ignoring the phone. Sorry if that was you. I’m pretty much in full-on INFJ mode right now and I just want it to be over. I’ll keep you updated on how it goes, ok?
Oh, and people? Don’t forget to wear your damn sunscreen and your hat too!