Feb 18, 2010
During the middle of the day dermatology offices are filled with very old people with band-aids on their faces, hiding what one can only assume are the wounds from having some growth removed. They wait patiently and watch Ellen on the TV in the corner.
Scattered in among them is a smattering of middle aged women. They are visiting for their latest BOTOX treatment or maybe for a prescription to grow thicker and fuller eyelashes or some other vanity inspired consult. That is a wild ass assumption that I base on the following observations:
a) how they were dressed,
b) how they appeared to be more impatient than worried and
c) how uncomfortable they were sitting in the waiting room with the band-aid senior league. I think the seniors reminded them that they are waging a losing battle against the ravages of time.
I don’t like Doctors in general. Few of them have good people skills and they usually have some sort of God complex going on. It was my first time to this office. Alarms went off as soon as I noticed the large number of support staff in the office area. There had to to be about 10 of them for a three doctor practice. They were all female, thin and attractive. Each one of them was wearing white from head to toe, as if the colorful medical garb you routinely see had been banned. I think they were going for a sterile, professional look. It was actually just creepy, sort of like a medical harem or an army of Stepford-like automatons.
What was I doing there? Well, you get a few suspicious moles you think maybe you should go see the Doctor. You know, catching it early and such. Turns out my “moles” are nothing to worry about. The one on my breastbone is an ugly, white cyst and having it removed will create a scar 3x bigger. I will have to live with it.
Cyst is an ugly word. I'm toying with the idea of painting it with an iris, pupil and some lashes to look like a third eye on my chest, just to freak people out. The mole on my left shoulder blade that occasionally gets all dry and itchy (very un-mole like in my opinion, moles should just sit there and behave) is also nothing to worry about according to the Doctor.
The actual time spent with the Doctor and his PA was brief and insulting. He looked like Max Headroom with horned rim glasses. They both acted as if I was a nitwit for wanting to have my "obviously OK" moles checked out.
In a very condescending tone.... "Well moles get dry and itchy like any other part of the skin. Do you moisturize your back?" Um no, I can't reach my back, do I look like a contortionist? And my husband has better things to do than to slather me with moisturinzing lotion.
"Well, just keep an eye on it and come back if it changes. Do you have somebody to check it for you?" This was said in a sort of pitying way. I think the wedding ring I don't wear made them think I was some sort of sad, lonely spinster with nobody to assess her moles. What would they have said if I had said no? Suggest I get one of those dogs that can sniff out cancer?
To solidify my dislike for this Doctor, as I was walking out I passed by him flirting with a Pharmaceutical Sales Twit. She was blond and giggly. Informing him in a very suggestive voice that she had a "surprise" for him. I made a hasty retreat before I could hear his response. It was like watching soft porn.