snitches get stitches

I had seriously been dreading this procedure to remove the rest of the cancer, or at least the rest of that particular one.

I was out of the waiting room lickety-split.  I didn't even get the WiFi password for my phone before I was being whisked down to my exam room.  The nurse was explaining things, telling me where to sit, and handing me a gown when the doctor came in.  He started asking me questions and lifted the back of my t-shirt to see.  He said I could keep it on and forego the gown if I wanted.  That sounded good to me.  Perhaps he was trying to save on his laundry bill, but I was comfier.  Fortunately my shirt was black because I bled on it.  What a surprise.

Next thing I know, I was face-down with needles in my back getting numbed.  I asked for extra because sometimes I metabolize anesthetia faster than others.  He talked for a minute and cut into me a minute later.  Eleven minutes after I had walked into the office, my cancer was out.  However, I didn't know that until they verified it with a microscope and pathology-trained dermatologist onsite.  It's why I opted for this method.  They came in about 30 minutes later to tell me.  Yippee!  Such a relief.

But, I still needed to wait for the plastic surgeon to stitch me up all pretty-like.

That wait was over an hour.  Apparently there were complications with the previous patient.  I didn't mind waiting for someone who took their time and did a good job.  I amused myself by texting friends, snooping through the examination room, and quietly crying.

While being stitched up finally, it turned out the plastic surgeon and I had met previously, luckily on good terms.  An awkward (on my part) conversation ensued.  Somehow I prefer my medical professionals to not socialize with me.  Yes, I know they're people.  And I don't mind socializing with other medical people, just not mine.  It's weird for me.

the Summer of Wendy

A friend came into town for Spring Break and to have a joint vacation.  We went to so many fabulous dining establishments.  And managed a quick trip down to Key West.  Yay!

Guess who fucked the Keys trip up a little by getting a migraine?

PICK ME!
PICK ME!

We stopped for lunch in Key Largo, where we had the best alligator I've ever eaten.  The coconut shrimp was delectable, too.

Key Lime Gator

Coconut Shrimp

Then on to No Name Key where we detoured to look for tiny Key Deer.  And where I had a mini freakout session.  The heat, the bright sunlight, and the frustration of not seeing any deer all contributed to it.  Mostly it was just me losing control of my emotions and not realizing that a migraine had snuck up on me.  Fortunately I wasn't driving, so I popped some meds.

It sounds ridiculous to think that these fuckers can still sneak up on me.  But one moment I'm fine and then by degrees, I get crankier and moodier and pain-ier and stabbier.  Usually after I've snapped at someone, I realize what's happening.  Then I'm swamped with guilt and tears, none of which helps the situation.  It's an emotional roller-coaster.  I fucking hate roller-coasters.  Especially emotional ones.  Especially mine.

I was feeling much better by the time we'd checked into our hotel in Key West.  I had only a sip each of our welcome (non-alcoholic) piña colada and daiquiri, too scared I'd worsen the migraine to veer off my water intake.  We did all the touristy stuff like see the (incorrect) southernmost point monument and watch sunset from Mallory Square.  We walked by the Hemingway House to look for polydactyl kitties.  We saw a few free-roaming kitties but didn't get close enough to count their toes.

welcome drinks

Hemingway cat

It was nice to see that the infamous Key West chickens had survived Hurricane Irma.  I'd read at the time that some locals had given shelter to ones they could catch.

Key West chickens

Apparently they opened a rum distillery since the last time I'd been down there.  Who knew?  Of course, we had to tour it and do a tasting.  Because of the reprieved migraine, I barely stuck my tongue in each type to get the flavor of them.  My favorite to drink was the Cuban Coffee Rum, which had a nice espresso rum flavor.  However, the best named is the Bad Bitch Rum, named after Spanish Marie, a legendary rum-runner during Prohibition.  I definitely got the t-shirt!  Interestingly, they said that their latest batch of it was being made during Hurricane Irma when the barometric pressure dropped so low, and the flavor is slightly different.

Rum tasting at Key West Distillery

And finally, no trip to the keys would be complete without comparing several Key Lime pies, including my first foray into deep-fried Key Lime pie.  It was tasty, but I prefer the original.

deep-fried Key Lime pie

All in all, it was a fun trip (minus the migraine) and a great visit with my friend (minus the other four migraines).  Obligatory FML.  It was a bit sad to still see Hurricane Irma damage after all this time, but I was happy to do my part by spending tourist money there.  I will end this lengthy post with gratitude that Kitten and I survived Irma fairly well. 

paranoid or safe?

I've been feeling pretty crappy lately.  Pain and stress are both exhausting and depressing.  Mostly, I've been moving from bed to the couch and back again.

Yesterday, I forced myself to go for a walk just to get out of the house.  I hadn't planned on seeing anyone in the next few days, so I had done another skin cancer treatment on my face.  My skin was all red and angry.  I threw on some shoes and went outside before I changed my mind.  I didn't care about my messy hair or mismatched clothes.

Most times, I never see anyone on my walks, just birds, iguanas, and Pokemon.  Yesterday, a man approached me to say hello.  He was very friendly but a bit hesitant.  He finally introduced himself to me and asked me out.  I thanked him for his compliments and politely declined his advances.  I also lied and said I wasn't from this area.  And, I've learned over the years that it's easier for all involved to say I'm married.  He seemed disappointed but left me alone after that.  Or did he?

Because it's not always that simple (ask any woman anywhere), I changed my route on the way home and checked behind me multiple times.   He could have been exactly what he seemed at face value or he could have been Keyser Söze.  I hate that I need to take so many precautions, but who asks someone out who looks like shit though?

the personal touch

It's never good news when a doctor calls you personally.  Sigh.

I did not get the all-clear from the pathologist.  My new doc was great though.  She explained my options (including doing nothing and letting it grow bigger, which she didn't advise doing).  She didn't use fear tactics when she explained the pros and cons of each.  It's so refreshing to be spoken to like an adult.

I have another surgery scheduled with a specialist and a plastic surgeon to minimize the damage.  Damn.  I'm crying again just typing this, and I've had a few days already to process this.

I keep reminding myself that it's not on my face, so yay!  There's always a way for something to be worse.  Gratitude is in finding that, right?

I was brave today

About two weeks ago, I picked a new dermatologist out of Google search and made an appointment for today.  I almost cancelled several times, but I finally sucked up my courage and went.

I started crying before I even met her.  By the time she came in to meet me, I was a mess.  I explained my long, sordid skin cancer history.  She wasn't judgmental at all about the fact that I stopped getting checked for many years.  I was leery of that lecture.

I pointed out the spots I was worried about, of which there were many.  She then went over my whole body with a modified jewelers loupe and even checked my scalp.  She leaned toward non-aggressive treatment and recommended only excising one spot today.  She even cauterized it instead of stitches.  "I love the smell of napalm in the morning."

I have cream to use on four other spots, and a hole in my back.  Yay?  Cross your fingers that the pathologist gives the all-clear in a couple weeks.