gouge away.

it’s not just a pixies song anymore.

so, as is my fashion, i *may* have overdramatized it a bit on the twitter by vaguely referring to my impending procedure as “gettin’ a part of me removed” and not specifying which one.  it wasn’t even so much as a “part” as a feature of the skin which *possibly* would have given me cancer in twenty-five years if left unchecked.  yes, folks, i had an effin’ MOLE removed.  so what does this merit other than that single tweet or maybe a follow-up saying i was gouged?  two things:

1) this mole was special.  he was with me for as long as i can remember.   a constant companion on my arm, we played together, we ate together, we took baths and learned to write in cursive together.  and now he will be medical waste.  it’s kind of sad.  maybe i should have requested his remains and buried him somewhere nice.  he was the envy of all the other moles, the biggest, the darkest, the most fanciful mole you’d ever seen.  i thought he’d be with me for the long haul.  dear mole, even though you sort of turned on me, may you rest in peace.

2) WHY DID I HAVE TO TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES AND WEAR A PAPER GOWN AND HAVE THE “DOCTOR” LOOK AT THE REST OF MY SKIN???  MY ARM IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE!

REALLY!?!  thankfully i had on clothes that quickly went on and off and not like, a corset and stockings, as one would normally wear in society and in particular to the doctor.  but really?  this was my first time at this doctor.  first of all, they say “remove everything but your underwear.”  “underwear” is a subjective thing – yes my panties are underwear, but is or ain’t a bra?  some people may consider it not “underwear” as “underwear” is also sometimes used to exclusively imply underPANTS.  so, dilemma: leave the bra on?  yes.  next, where the fuck am i supposed to sit?  i’ve got this gown on and there’s the exam table which is high and requires a step stool, or there’s the chair i was sitting in.  eventually, after spinning in circles like a dog trying to find just the right spot, i chose the chair but worried it was only for “clothed people.”  so i sat on one leg as a compromise.  then i read an entire time magazine article.  then a man in a white coat came in,  carrying a chart and greeted me with a handshake.  after a pause in which i didn’t introduce myself at all, figuring he probably knows who i am, he felt the need to add, “i’m the doctor.”  which was kind of a red flag for me.  do you really need to mention you’re the doctor?  it was entirely possible one of the laboratory couriers looked at me semi-nude.  he was also supposed to be greek, but he didn’t “look” greek, so that was another red flag.  he was one of the whitest people i’ve seen, no olivey-mediterranean complexion or dark-ish hair, and without a delightful accent.  if someone wants me to take off my clothes to “inspect” my “moles” they should at least have a delightful accent.

so i’m thinking, why the fuck do i need to be in this gown…is it so when they gouge me blood doesn’t get all over my clothes?  that’s thoughtful.  nope.  it was so he could check that indeed i had a wedgie from trying to sit on my leg and then to make sure my thighs weren’t shaved.  THANKS.  if i noticed the one funky mole, i think i could check the rest of them myself.  i was fully prepared to announce that “the girls don’t have any” if i was wrong about the bra and it had to be removed.  seriously, they don’t have any, but it’s also NOT why i’m there.  it’s 90 degrees (F) out, so why would i have long sleeves on (i asked if i could get out of the gown and he had to contemplate it, then asked if my shirt was short sleeved).  the mole (R.I.P.) was exposed, able to see the sun one last time, so none of that was necessary.  i maintain that sometimes people just feel superior wearing clothes when someone else isn’t.  or it means he wasn’t really the doctor.  i thought it was odd that he marked the, uh, mark, with a circle in pen.  like…he wouldn’t remember where it was in five minutes?  would he confuse me with someone else if he didn’t mark it?  my other gripe was that he discouraged me from watching the gouging.  take one look at my pocked, scarred, cut skin and 1) you can tell i have great tolerance for pain and 2) i’m also not averse to scars.  i ain’t no porcelain doll, motherfucker.

i should have just gouged this one out myself like the one i did on my leg — it took a pair of scissors, nail clippers, the gougey part of the clippers,  and tweezers.  at the end i had to just grab part of the loose skin and rip it off.  no anasthesia, just a bullet to bite on.  that’s what we did in those days, and that’s the way we liked it.

UPDATE 9/8/10: now with photos!
i wonder if i should have photoshopped out my arm hair.  you know what, fuck that, women have arm hair.  deal with it.

my mole hole

close up, in case it wasn't gross enough

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~ by hollaphonic on 09/02/2010.

12 Responses to “gouge away.”

  1. I can totally relate! I had a wart (I know… gross) on the corner of my thumb knuckle for years. It was huge, but I didn’t care. His name was Herman. I tried for years to get rid of it to no avail. Then, while I was pregnant with my first, it just… disappeared… overnight. I asked the doc about it and he told me it was hormones. That’s it?! That’s the only explanation I get for this grotesque thing that I’d grown accustomed to on my thumb? That’s all he gives me? Anyway. R.I.P. Herman.

    You made me laugh. But then you made me “OMG” with your whole gouging yourself in the leg to remove a mole! WTF? Crazy woman!

    • my explanation: your first born IS herman. he just worked his way from your thumb down to your lady parts to be born?

  2. Yeah, you gouging it out yourself still makes me cringe, but mostly it makes me envious of your tolerance for pain. I could use some of that.

  3. I think you are me in an alternate reality, where I have no children and am free to write about interesting stuff, instead of having my head full of, “Damn, Boy, how could your little body hold that much poo???” Seriously. If these kids would potty train I but I could cure cancer. Or write something funny

    Can you tell I catch up with you on Sundays after reading PostSecret & xkcd?. I wanted to let you know that you rank that high. You should see the famous bloggers in my reader that I’m ignoring to read you. Srsly.

    • you feed my ego so well. someone reading this would think i am paying you. or, perhaps you *are* attempting to butter me up for a loan/nigerian-money-laundering-scheme. well, I’M NOT FALLING FOR IT (again).

      we are like….what’s that movie with gwyneth paltrow….sliding doors, where ONE mishap splits her present and we see how the 2 resulting lives are completely different based on whether or not she caught her train. or something. i basically said what you just said.

      soon your children will be old enough for swiss boarding school (they take elementary age kids right?) and you and i can compete against each other for “most non-sensical yet amusing blog.” i look forward to our rivalry. we will be like dumbledore and grindelwald [from harry potter] (except on the internet & without magic {so probably nothing like them at all}; also, i get to be dumbledore). or you can go cure cancer, if you think that’s more important than our rivalry. whatever.

  4. Dammit. That should have said, “I *bet* I could cure cancer.” Sorry, I’m distracted by the obvious poo-grunting coming from the other room.

    You’re welcome. 😉

  5. Photos?!? *NOW* I want a check. I can’t look at photos of mole holes for free.

    😀

  6. It doesn’t look nearly as gross as I expected it to. How long will it take to heal, or has it already? Imagine all the stories you could make up about the scar left over. 😉

    • i wish it was cooler. it *should* take 2 weeks, but it’s already been almost 2 weeks and it’s got a ways to go. maybe a month? unless i re-gouge it to boost my cred.

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