A TRIP TO THE SKIN DOCTOR
If you’re under 40, you can skip this story altogether. If you’re over 40: read on…
As a youngster, I had beautiful skin. Clear, porcelain-like and unmarked by acne or anything else. My five siblings, however, struggled with the horrors of acne. I felt very lucky. Yeah, I even gloated a bit now and then.
But eventually, Father Time and lack of hormones caught up to me: at around age 45 if I recall. Then the horror started. First it was a tiny spot of skin cancer.
Then cysts, the age spots, the moles, the pimples, the random “goat hairs”, the WARTS, skin tags – and all on my face. I wasn’t just alarmed: I was freaked out.
Thus began the twice a year visits to the dermatologist (whose kids were helped through college by my very frequent donations.)
“Well, Good morning, Mrs. White,” she bounced breezily into the exam room. “How’s fishing? Wearing your sunscreen, I hope.”
Dr. Roman is a no-nonsense, straightforward skin wiz with a knack for sarcasm and a quick wit. She’s also an expert in her field for skin cancer and has removed a small piece of it for me in the past.
I nodded yes as the doctor began her pore by pore exam of my sorry countenance.
“What’s wrong with my skin?”
“Welll, nothing unusual, normal old age stuff, ya know? But no signs of skin cancer re-occurrence” she announced.
“Then why does my face look like somebody walked on it with cleats?”
She looked at me like I was a 5 year old.
“Dear, you’ve got some post-menopausal acne with age-associated problems. Nothing a good laser or chemical peel won’t solve.”
“Laser? Chemicals? Sounds painful.” I muttered.
“No, not that painful, but pricey and not covered by insurance.”
“Okay, so what’s this going to cost?”
“Barring any complications, around $2000 give or take. But there’s some good news, too.”
“There is? Tell me!” I grew a tad excited.
“You don’t have even a sign of turkey neck. Your neck skin is tight and nearly flawless. You’re quite lucky; it’s usually one of the first things that happens to older gals, along with bingo flaps. So congrats on that.”
“Well, thanks Doc.”
I felt like I had just been thrown a left-handed compliment, fastball style.
With that Dr. Frankenstein went on to her next victim.
I couldn’t wait to talk this over with my hubby. As soon as I got in my car, I called him.
“Honey, I don’t have Turkey Neck!” I yelled into the phone when he answered.
“What? What are you talking about?” he sounded puzzled.
“I have no signs of skin cancer, and NO TURKEY NECK. And it’s only going to cost about $2000 dollars for the work I need. Isn’t that great news?”
“Um, sure, but I think you should go back to wearing the brown paper sack over your head when you leave the house,” he said with a snicker in his voice. ”You can buy a lot of brown bags for two grand.”
I’m just going to ignore his teasing, because I have NO turkey neck!
IN MY HUMBLE OPINION
Reflections on daily life
By Sherry White
So, my uncle died in July. It wasn’t a huge shock to anyone, he was 78 years old. I think even he knew it was coming.
What WAS shocking though, was the way I found out. From my sister. Through a phone call that was the result of a TEXT MESSAGE. Yeah, a text from our aunt who was with him in another city when he passed. A damn text message. I couldn’t believe it!
What the hell? Was he NOT worth a phone call? It still bothers me. I mean, really? Where’s the respect? Where’s the consideration? Where’s the ETIQUETTE??
Or…am I just too damn “old school”.
I have a Windows cell phone. I also have a desktop PC and a laptop. I’ve been online since 1999. Tech savvy—nah but for my age, I think I do pretty good.
BUT, the spoken word in a time of grief seems much more appropriate to me.
My kids are big on texting. They do it all day long. They send me texts more than they call me. Am I offended by this? Yeah, a little. I mean, heck, I’m your MOTHER and someday you’ll WISH you could hear my voice again. I know I miss my mom and her voice. I don’t mind an occasional text saying “I’m on the way” or “Do you have time to chat?” but beyond that, I would like a phone call.
Particularly annoying is a text from ANYONE that says “call me”. DUH, why don’t you just DIAL MY FREAKING NUMBER if you want to talk?!?! Is it because you’re afraid you’ll call at a bad time? I’m not that unaccommodating! If it’s a bad time, I’m gonna tell you so!
Don’t get me wrong: I’m in love with digital communication when appropriate.
I have a Facebook account, a Twitter account and the old My Space page. I have at least six email accounts for different purposes. I use to sell on Ebay and still have an account. I play games online, I post to Facebook, I do a lot of banking and shopping online too. I even have a blog on Word Press. I’m not AFRAID of technology, I embrace it most of the time.
But I’m concerned that communication will soon be a lost art. If 80 year old ladies are texting instead of making that simple phone call, what’s next?
I shudder at the thought.
Getting serious about a subject is not something I do often. I like to make people smile and sometimes even laugh. But lately, I’ve been on a bad trip over the subject above: TRUST.
I think trust is so important and so lacking in my relationships. I have total trust in my children, but I have to admit, that’s where it stops. LIFE has taught me that sometimes trust is misplaced with disastrous results. I have trusted men, and lived to regret it. I have trusted employers and been sorely disappointed. Most hurtful: I have trusted friends and been betrayed.
Trust is not a natural component in relationships. It must be earned and cherished once it is. In a marriage, trust is number one, because without it, there can never be a whole marriage. There will be fragments and pieces that may fit together, but trust is an essential. You can’t love someone you don’t trust, period. Once that trust is broken, I am not sure it can ever be mended. From my experience, I believe that if it’s broken repeatedly, there is no hope for a future.
Do I think EVERY time trust is misplaced it should signal an end to the friendship/relationship? No, I don’t. But I feel that repeated abuses of trust signal a much larger problem. In a good marriage, there is mutual trust from the beginning. There are mistakes made, arguments that resolve and differences of opinion, but the trust is always there. When that disappears, the marriage is in serious trouble, if not doomed.
As I look back over my life, I realize the only people I ever trusted where my parents and grandparents. When I trusted a man, I was always left broken-hearted. When I trusted friends, I was betrayed in some way in the end. Employers were always notorious for betraying the trust I mistakenly placed in them. When I married (both times) I trusted that man to be as loyal and loving as I was. Was that why my first marriage failed? No, it was a combination of unresolvable issues. But at the center was the lack of trust that never recovered.
I don’t pretend to have answers to why this is so. It’s just my observation that trust is so very important.
But I DO trust God, and always will.
Hug the ones you love today. And trust that they love you back!
A long, long time ago in a universe far away, I felt great and felt like I could take on the world. Then, as old age progressed, I got sick. Then I had surgery. Then I went back to school on Aug. 20, only to realize: I’m not that young chick with boundless energy anymore. The surgery was not major, but it kicked me in the keister good and hard. After 2 weeks of struggling, I decided to take a break from school till January. Follow doctor’s orders. Give my body time to heal. Catch up on my To Do list, which seems to grow longer with each day that passes. Spend time with the grands, that number 5 now and I love them all dearly. Fish more with hubby. Try to outfish him more 🙂
Come January, I hope and pray I will be able to resume classes, keep writing for the Puma Press and be as healthy as someone my age can be. Time will tell!
I feel blessed to be able to go to school, keep up my house, spend time with my grandkids and of course: commune with nature while seeking a Trophy Fish! Having a hobby is a good thing. Getting out and staying active is a great thing. But most of all, looking down at the grass instead of UP at it, well it doesn’t get much better than THAT!
I promise (threaten) to be back more often. My teacher could be watching! 🙂
I have officially, as of this day, captured from my sibling (you know who you are!) the ultimate in fashion headgear and most-coveted title: THE QUEEN OF KLUTZ! Long held by a member of my family (whose middle name is Accident), I have come upon ownership of this title quite unexpectedly! Let’s just say, I sprained my left wrist, bungeeing jumping over Havasupai Falls–ok, so it wasn’t that; it must have been free-falling from the former Sears Tower? No, that wasn’t it–must have been that parasailing over Lake Powell–nooo, it wasn’t that! Ok, I fell off my stripper pole during last night’s finale…NO? Truth is, I was loading my dishwasher and had a teeny weeny dizzy spell and YEP, fell into the open dishwasher. Home alone, awkwardly sprawled over the door (nearly breaking it at the same time!) I thought: OH GOSH, is THIS how a refined, sophisticated gal like me buys the farm??? Falling in a dishwasher!?! NOOO…So I picked myself up and checked myself out and although I had tremendous pain in my left wrist, there was no blood and there were no broken appendages…phew!
However, I did believe the left wrist was broken, which is only fair, since almost exactly two years ago I broke my RIGHT wrist in a fall! So I hauled myself off to the Ortho Doc the next day for Xrays that showed no broken bones, but a definite sprain. Grrrrr….a hand brace for at least 4-6 weeks…
I have had fun telling unsuspecting friends and family that I DID indeed fall off a stripper pole and watching them chuckle. However, the ultimate humiliation occurred at the next visit to my family doctor. Sporting a wrist brace, I sat patiently waiting for him to enter. Dr. M has been my family doc for almost 30 years, so he knows me quite well. When he walked in, wearing his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, he looked at me and said
“Well, what happened to you?”
“Fell off my stripper pole a few days ago,” I said totally expressionless.
Then the good doctor looked at me from my feet to the top of my head and said:
“Ain’t you a little old for a stripper pole?”
That’s my story and I’m stripping, err.. I mean STICKING to it!
The New Queen of Klutz