Larry, Curley and Mohs: It's the good kind of cancer

Wednesday, July 30. I'm somewhere in the wild, wild West. I think it's South Dakota. I get a call from my doctor.

Dr: The biopsy came back. Me: Okay. Dr: It's a squamous cell skin cancer. Me: Okay Dr: It's the good kind of skin cancer (she always says that). I'll set you up with a Mohs surgeon. It's a simple procedure. Do you want to go to Skokie or downtown? Me: Downtown

Thursday, August 1. I'm somewhere else in the wild, wild West. I think it's Wyoming. I get a call from the Mohs surgeon's office. Receptionist: We have the biopsy report. Let's set up the time for the surgery? The sooner the better. Me: Next Thursday? Receptionist: That works. 8:30 am. Be here fifteen minutes early to check in. See you then.

Thursday, August 8. 8:15 am. I head downtown for a little cancer removal. I'm there fifteen minutes early like I'm told. I'm sitting in the waiting room when someone else checks in. Her appointment is with the same doctor as mine, at the same time as mine. Hmmm. One of the nurses finds me to mention that the doctor is running late. Thirty to forty-five minutes late. Hmmm. How is this possible? I have the second appointment of the day. He can't possibly run that late this early, can he? Hmmm. Double and triple booked?

Thursday, August 8. 9:00 am. I'm still a little pissed off at all the waiting, but it's go time. For those of you who aren't familiar with Mohs surgery, you're awake during the procedure. They numb you up pretty good, then cut out the cancer and cut a little more into the margins. Next it's off to pathology to see if they have it all. That takes about an hour. If it's all gone, they stitch you up and you go home. If not, they do some more cutting. There's more waiting and another pathology check. This continues until everything is cleaned out. It's fairly simple, but it does involved a lot of waiting. By 9:15, I was cut, bandaged and back in the waiting room. Good thing I had a book. Good thing the office has wi-fi.

Thursday, August 8. 11:00 am. A nurse comes to get me. There's still a little cancer left. One more cutting is needed. Sure, why not. By 11:30, we're done with the slicing and dicing. I'm waiting again. I start counting the people in the room. The number is thirty. Almost all of them have some kind of bandage on their body. Arms, legs, necks, faces. All of them are larger than the one on my forehead. One man has a bandage that takes up an entire side of his face. If the bandage was darker, it would remind you of the "Phantom of the Opera."

Remember that early scene of being pissed off for the waiting and double-booking? I'm not so pissed off anymore. In fact, I'm very grateful. My cancer is very minor (if there's such a thing as minor cancer) and was handled easily. In fact, this is now my second bout with skin cancer and I've spent a total of four hours to treat both of them. No chemo. No radiation. Nothing! It's hard to realize that and not feel more than a little grateful. It's hard to realize that and not feel a little guilty.

When I left the office, I was waiting for an elevator with the man who had his face bandaged. He told me it was all because of a little mark on his eyelid. I just shook my head. It doesn't take much looking around to find someone who is much worse off than you. It makes you feel like a schmuck for whining about a little half-hour wait. Sometimes this gratitude thing is hard. Sometime you need to get beat on your head to get there. This apparently was one of those times.

Friday, August 9. 8:00 am. I've been home since 3:00 pm yesterday. The anesthesia has worn off and I've had a pretty bad headache. Tylenol and Advil help...sort of. Nothing I can't handle. There's thirty or so stitches in my forehead, but it's not a big deal. They'll be gone in a week. I'm going to take it easy today. Chill out, watch some television, take some naps. I'm also doing some thinking about the others I saw yesterday. I'll be working on that gratitude thing, too. It's always a work in progress

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