Holy Moley

Today I'm going to see a dermatologist to get a couple of moles looked at.  I am covered in them.  My kids used to call me Appaloosa Mommy.  There's one on my leg that seems a little darker than it used to, so I'm getting it Looked At.  I'm not worried, because I never have had a problem, but someone I love and am genetically closely related to once had a troublesome mole.  He's okay now.  But twenty-odd years later there's still a little dent in his thigh from where the lump was removed.

Gotta go.

Babysitting this afternoon.

paint store this morning.

go go go

okay, I'm back long enough to tell you about my moley moles before I take off again for the afternoon...

So I'm sitting on this stupid padded table thing wearing my brawr and undies and my blue woollen socks with the white toes and heels.  And a square of white paper.  Yep.  Here I am.  The doctor comes in.  That impulse to say stupid things comes roaring out of me.  "I wore my best socks for you today!"  And I flip my feet back and forth.  Geez. Duh.

"Very nice," he replies, totally deadpan.  "Anything under those socks I need to look at?"

"Huh, huh, noooo."  He must think I'm a few bricks short of a picnic or something.  Really I'm just wishing I'd thought of it to shave my fuzzy legs.  (C'mon girls, we've all been here, am I right?)

Here's the thing about this doctor: I've seen him before.  He burned a huge mole off my thigh a few years back.  He's a dermatologist.  He's seen all kinds of gross stuff.  I can't be the worst!  But he's so darn good lookin!  Probably in his 30s, pretty brown eyes, that strong Jewish-looking nose, light stubble and a scattering of silver at his temples.  Think Keanu Reeves.  Okay?  Seriously.

And there's me.  

"Well, I've got these moles..."  and he gets out his little microscope thing.  "This one here, it looks like it's getting darker..."

He shines a light on it.  "Oh it's fine.  Nothing to worry about."

"What about this one on my face?"

"Yeah, it's okay too.  There's a hair in it."

"There's like, five hairs coming out of it."

End result of that discussion:  I'm choosing to continue to pluck my witchy whiskers than get the mole removed.  He'd have to cut right in there, and it's on my jawbone, and it would leave a white line for a scar.  It's nasty either way so I'm going to leave it.

He looked over my back, everything's fine, and finally checked over the moles on the back of my neck.  It would cost hundreds of dollars to get them all removed because this is not covered by Ontario Health Insurance Plan, affectionately known as OHIP.

We talked about my work outside in the sun, discussed SPF 30, and how great it is that I wear hats all the time.  He told me that moles and freckles do increase with sun exposure, even with sunscreen, which is shocking considering how many I've got already!  He thanked me for keeping on top of it and encouraged me to be aware of what's going on.  

And that was my visit with Dr Handsome-tologist.  I don't care how good lookin' and deadpan funny he is though... I'm not devising plans to get moles removed just to bask in his company!

So yeah.  We'll still be playing dot-to-dots on me.  Appaloosa Mommy.