Excised

The problem with starting a relationship with a new doctor is that they refer you to their other doctor friends so everyone can jump on the health insurance gravy train. So since meeting the woman (Dr. Laura, no relation) in Nov. 2020 who started me on my, ahem, "wellness journey," I've seen an ophthalmologist for a more thorough eye exam than anyone really needs who isn't already blind, and a dermatologist, whose cursory two-minute "full-body inspection" didn't feel much different than staring at myself in the mirror before a shower. Long story short, since cutting skin is what pays the bills, the derma today excised an "atypical mole" from my lower back. A small slice of it was biopsied last month and was found to be atypical, but not cancerous. The distinction isn't clear to me. Today, out of an abundance of caution, they removed the skin in a 0.5 cm circle around the mole to make sure all the atypical cells are gone. Apparently the cells don't travel very far? Anyway. I didn't feel a thing when he cut, but it was a little disconcerting when he was tugging the skin off. I'm told the area removed is about the size of a quarter and it, too, will be biopsied just in case. My thanks to BlueShield of Northeastern New York, now known simply as Highmark because it probably polled better in a focus group.

Here is a photo of the surgical tray after he left the room. Shhh, no cell phones allowed. So today it's a few more episodes of "The Morning Show," 400 mg of Motrin every six hours, and no bending or twisting. Come back in two weeks to remove the outer sutures.