My story starts about ten years ago...
...when I developed a light coloured lumpy mole on my face. It was one of those that are associated with getting older and tend to run in families. My Mother has a couple of the blighters that are of impressive proportions.
I went to my GP, who happens to tout himself as a skin specialist. He told me to come back in about ten years when my skin was less taut! So I did. Having developed a couple of other little bumps along the way. He hummed and hawed and said my skin was still too good, and that if it were a bit saggier then it would be easier to close over a wound.
But I'd had enough of it and so he referred me to a consultant. I went to see the good German Doktor on the 2nd of June. He took one look at it, declared it a minor procedure that could have been dealt with years ago, and booked me in for seeing-to.
Yesterday afternoon I travelled about ten miles to the hospital. That was after discovering a form that I should have had signed by my GP. I tore round to the surgery and they cobbled together a bit of paper and I went to fill up with petrol...
When I arrived there was no parking. Anywhere. I ended up miles away, dumping the car at the side of a busy road and legging it to the clinic, arriving with a sweat on and not at all calm. But there was no queue, so I went in a bit moist round the edges. Nobody was in the least interested in the form I'd had such a traumatic time over.
Table neatly set with crisp white cloth, I climbed up and was told to keep my eyes closed because of the light. Next, the local anaesthetic. Now, I don't like the thought of injections, but I considered this well worth the minor stinging.
After the fourth injection and attendant bout of squirming and suppressed grunts, and him obviously thinking I was a fussing woman, he nipped off to the side table. The needle was blocked and not releasing the gear, which explained the pain and bleeding. He was very nice about it but we had to go through the whole rigmarole again. Second time lucky. Bingo, thank goodness.
A couple of minutes and a bit of scraping later I was deposited in the waiting room with a cup of tea. The offending mole safely banged up in a test tube awaiting analysis. Just in case. Obviously at this point I reached for the handbag mirror.
I imagine at some point it will look better. I hope it will, though there's always the risk of scarring (which is why he only did one for now-to see how it goes). Right now it's about ten times the size it was before the procedure. And jet black. In fact it's more like this now, and bizarrely in almost the same position. It has had some stuff painted on it 'to form a crust', which also stains the skin. It is hypnotic.
I'm thinking of making a badge for work today. Something along the lines of 'Don't stare. I've had a Minor Procedure!'