But when I saw the stitches on my upper thigh, where I had an abnormal mole cut out, I couldn't help myself. I sat in my bathroom and just boo-hooed. I don't do well with wounds on my own body and don't get me started on stitches. Stitches rank first on my list of "ultimately gross things that make me want to pass out." Childhood trauma perhaps. I can already tell the place on my leg is deeply indented and will scar not so beautifully.
There is also a hideously large incision on my right boob of all places. I know, what an AWFUL place to have a surgeon chop you up for all the wrong reasons (not that there's really a right reason). I can't even begin to look at that one for fear of passing out. I don't know why people elect places on their bodies to change, I would never choose to be stitched. So, you get it, I hate this kind of stuff.
And I'm upset with myself because I should have done this a while ago.
Over the past two years I've been cut and scraped up EIGHT times. And I'm doing the math. If I go every six months to the dermatologist, over the next thirty years, I'll technically be a human pin cushion.
I'll find out results in a week. I'm praying that it's nothing, but anxious that it could be something. I overheard the receptionist in the office order someone a CT and bone scan before I even had a chance to get seen. Honestly, I thought my hands wouldn't stop shaking after hearing her say that. What if that is me next week?
So, I really want to beg you. If you see a place that you think is suspicious on your body, please go get it checked out. It might be a mole or freckle or skin discoloration. And in most chances it could end up being absolutely nothing to worry about.
PLEASE stop tanning in tanning beds. Stop oiling yourself up at the beach. It's not worth it.
I wish I could tell my cuter, younger, size 4 college self to embrace the pale skin and stop the tanning, and wear more sunscreen. I have fair skin after all. Tan skin doesn't make you any prettier. And nothing is prettier than being healthy.
So until next week, I will wait patiently, but probably won't take a peek at those stitches again.
Hey, isn't that what husbands are for?