Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Y2 Day 112: Hi, I'm Scarface, Wanna Play? (original title)
I just got back from the pre-surgical consult for my Mohs surgery on January 31, and I have three words:
I am officially freaked out. Not so much from the multitude of needles that will be stuck into the center of my face. Not so much from the need to abstain from alcohol for, like, ever. (I am so barfy from my freakout right now, I'm never drinking again.) Not so much from the fact that this tiny minor surgery to remove America's most curable cancer is going to involve at least two procedures and multitudes of hours.
Here's what it is:
The excellent surgeon is going to remove a dime-sized piece of my nose . . . and leave the hole. To heal. That's Part 1. I live with a dime-sized piece of nose missing for two weeks, keeping it moist — (UGHY-PEW) — with Vaseline.
Part 2 involves removing a portion of my cheek skin, near my ear, and sticking it onto my nose. It will be like buddy skin, joining the new skin and giving everything some elbow room, so there'll be no shrinkage.
Excellent Surgeon consults her datebook. "Let's see, January 31 . . . and we'll see you again in two weeks . . . so, February 14. OK?"
Uh, yeah. Sure. I've been married almost 20 years, why not have a freaking skin graft on Valentine's Day? Why. The hell. Not.
I said, "I work in a school, with little kids. Is my face going to scare them?" What I saw in the nurse's eyes was, "Oh, yeah," but what she said was, "Some kids find it fascinating." Well, probably both are true.
But when I sat down to write this post, clutching my barf bag just in case, I Googled "woman with facial scars" and "face after Mohs surgery," and oh my heavens, if I wasn't feeling sick before . . .
(Dude, don't try it. Trust me on this.)
And now I feel sick because I'm being such a nancy. I will look freakish for a few weeks, possibly even months, but then I will heal and be a healthy pretty Lady again. Some of these other women . . . oh, sister. My heart goes out to them.
So, that's all I'm going to say right now, but January 31 is a long way away, and I imagine I'll have a few thoughts before then.
I'm off to zumba in a bit, which will help me. You know — to forget. Ha.
—Lady C, currently with satiny skin and nothing dime-sized on her entire face