Call me narcissist if you must but this blog is all about ME. I have another blog about my kids, whom I love and adore writing about. But I was Nicole a long time before I was mom and I don't intend to give up being Nicole overnight.

p.s.
You can read all about my kids at Naptime Optional.
Or you can follow along on our Arizona adventure on my 365 project blog.

Friday, September 12, 2008

With a limp and a smile

You'd think I would learn. But I never do. Maybe some day.

I went to the dermatologist today to have mole examined. It was supposed to be a simple appointment. In my head I imagined it going one of two ways.

Scenario 1: I show Dr. the mole. Dr. says there is nothing wrong with that mole, it looks perfectly harmless. I say thank you and go home, relived that that's over with.

Scenario 2: I show Dr. the mole. Dr. says it's probably okay but let's remove it just to be safe. He removes mole. I say think you, and go home, relieved that that's over with.

The visit started out like scenario 1, but didn't end that way.

Yes, I showed him the mole, he said it was fine, and explained it looked different in size and shape because it got stretched when I was pregnant. So, that should've been that. But then the Dr. said "what next?" I said "um, nothing, that's it." And he genuinely seemed disappointed. He said, "are you sure? You're already in my chair and you've already paid your co-pay."

Well....I do have these pesky planters warts on the bottom of my feet. They've been there for years. One I even had cut out by a podiatrist last year. But it came back. And they are really starting to hurt. So, I casually mentioned them to him. He told me to take my socks off. I asked him tentatively if I'd still be able to drive myslef home. He assured me I would so I took my socks off. And then as soon as he laid eyes on my pretty little warts (did I mention I had one on each foot?) he started shaking his head. "You've had these for awhile, haven't you. You should know that the longer you wait the deeper they become and the harder they are to get rid of. Turn over on your stomach."

I should also mention that I was in a gown at this point because, well, the mole in question was in a location that required me to remove my pants. And the gown was open in the back. So really the LAST thing I wanted to do was turn over onto my stomach. I wanted to ask if I could put my pants back on first because I hardly thought having my pants off was necessary for the removal of warts on the bottom of my feet. But I didn't. Instead I obediently turned over and tried my best to pull the skimpy gown around myself. (I failed miserably, thanks for asking.)

I must insert a little something about myself here. I hate going to the doctor. No, let me rephrase that, I DESPISE going to the doctor. When I have an appointment coming up I think and worry about it all week long! Which is why even picking up the phone to make an appointment takes me a very VERY long time. So, I'd been telling my husband for months that I needed to get my warts taken care of, but had just never gotten around to it. So, when the offer was extended to just take care of them while I was already sitting in his chair, well I had to bite the bullet and say yes because I KNEW it would be months before I got around to making another appointment.

This same little tid-bit about myself is the same reason that last year around this time when I went to have my wart removed the first time that I walked (er, hobbled) out of the doctor's office that day with not only my wart removed, but ingrown toenails on both feet cut out and cauterized, too. And believe me when I say the timing of these things is never convenient.

Okay, back to the story at hand.

The Dr. begins freezing off my warts, and starts telling me about how I'm going to hate him this weekend, (after he told me I would be able to drive home)and how I'm going to limping around all weekend. And how I get to pay for the privilege. At one point it started to REALLY hurt and I told him so. Well, what I actually said was "just for the record, that doesn't feel very good." His response "Just for the record you're the one who let these go so long before coming to see me. And here I get blamed. Everybody wants to blame the doctor." Yea, he was quite the comedian.

Finally the freezing was over and he sat the chair back up again. But, you know me. Sitting there, my feet in pain, listening to him tell about blood blisters and oozing and stuff I began to feel very faint. The room started spinning. And not wanting a repeat of that fateful day in July I stopped him mid sentence and asked for a glass of water and if I could lay back down for a moment.

So he laid me down, and his MA got me some water, and a sucker, and a puke bowl, just in case. And the doctor went on with his wisecracking ways. First he gave me some mood lighting to help me feel better. (turned off one bank of florescent lights.) And then went over to the computer to also give me some mood music. Oh yes. The dermatologist gave me mood music. "I've got you under my skin."

He also chose this moment to tell me that my warts were deep and would need at least 2 more treatments just like this one. Great!

So as he left me in the darkened room, listening to his itunes playlist, feet throbbing, I thought about how on earth I was going to drive home! Well, not home exactly. Because Mike had a business lunch to be to and I was supposed to be meeting him there to do a kid swap before he went into lunch.

After I was feeling a bit better I sat up....only to have to lay back down again. But finally I was able to get up and get my shoes back on. But I had to take them back off as soon as I got to the car and drive with just my toes to keep from putting pressure on the soles of my feet.

Then there is the part of the story that I stay to eat with Mike because, well he invited me, and because I thought some food might be useful before I started to drive home in my lightheaded condition. And how I had to squeeze my shoes back on, And how the kids made a big scene the entire time while Mike was trying to talk to his old boss. But we'll leave that part out.

So here I am now, with my feet propped up for the third time in a year. Man I have expensive feet!

And there go our plans to go to the State Fair tonight. Who likes fried oreos anyway?

7 comments:

orangemily said...

Man, you do have expensive feet!
Too bad about missing the fair, fried oreos sound awesome!

Krista said...

Your poor feet! You poor sole! But thanks for sharing the experience because it made me laugh. You didn't need fried Oreos, they already have enough hydrogenated oil in them to kill you! I hope you feel better soon! Take better care of your tootsies!

Andria said...

I have to admit that I think I need fried Oreos. (Notice how out of all the things you wrote in your post, the only thing I focused on was fried Oreos? I think I need something to eat.) Oh, and sorry about your feet! :d (Ooh, that little tongue sticking out thins is not very lady like.)

floridagirlinsydney said...

Wow, that story was so funny, yet not funny at the same time. Poor feeties!

I especially loved his response to you when you said it hurt. Doctors are such sensitive people, NOT.

Bonnie said...

What a drama your life is!! Anyway, don't worry about the fried oreo's.... we went to the state fair last nite and I didn't see fried oreo's anywhere. I'm sure it would be cheeper to make your own anyway.

Andria said...

So, I tried to call you on Saturday because I made fried Oreos and I was going to bring some over to you, but no one answered (home phone or cell). Sad. :(

Karen said...

Hmmmm. I missed this one too? How does this happen? I check daily, but your not showing up as anything new on my blog roll till today. That said.....you and your Doctor's visists, make me shake my head. You have a knack for finding all of the characters.