Maybe she’s born with it?

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Or maybe it is a basal cell carcinoma?

Who the hell knows, apart from the good fold at Douglass Pathology, who are currently in possession of a piece of my nose which was removed yesterday by Dr. Lee.

I have no problems admitting that I have a very low pain threshold. This in one of the main reasons that I will never get a tattoo. But holy sweet mother of Jesus, a big fucking needle in your nose smarts, and that is putting it mildly.

I turned up to my appointment with the Dermatologist early, for I had to fill out some paper work. I did this quite efficiently and had some time to enjoy the music being pumped out through the speakers. We had Ava Maria, Only The Good Die Young (which later I pointed out to Dr. Lee was perhaps not a great choice) and a lengthy musical number that would have been a great accompaniment to some enthusiastic Irish Dancers.

My name was called and I shook hands with Dr. Lee before following him into his room.

Now, I suffer from a condition called White Coat Anxiety which means when I go to any medical appointment I get myself quite worked up. But Dr. Lee was adorable and I told him so. I sat through a photo shoot, as he snapped away at my nose. He then donned a pair of gloves and gave me a thorough feeling up, including an internal examination of my nasal passage which was really very strange.

He suggested that we do a biopsy. I had never had one before and he reassured me that it was no big deal. He paged his nurse who prepped for the procedure.

I lay on a table while he told me what was going to happen. I told him that I tended to lose my shit in times like these, and so the nurse Helen held my hand. He injected my nose with an anaesthetic and….

“FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKK”

Out it came, an explosion of profanities that I couldn’t contain. In between my foul language, IĀ apologised for my FFFUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK THAT HURTS inappropriateĀ outbursts. Dr. Lee and Helen started tapping away at my arm and my forehead to try to distract me from the pain. It was really nice that they tried.

The doctor then made sure I couldn’t feel anything before using something akin to a hole punch, to remove 3mm from the tip of my nose.

He then stuck in a stitch before telling me that he would see me next week to discuss the results.

And so I lay there, feeling quite unwell, while Helen tended to me.

“I like your pants!” She said. I was wearing my Lorna Jane Fluro Huffy Puffy pants of power.

“Oh thanks. I came straight from personal training. I am sorry I didn’t have time to change.” I said.

Turns out that Helen was also doing Huffy Puffy classes and had recently lost 3 kilos. So we chewed the fat about being fat for a while. And then I asked her the question.

“Do you think I have cancer?”

She was very reassuring and told me that I was in the best hands, and that it was probably nothing but it was far better to have it checked out and dealt with. Then she gave me a Barley Sugar because I was turning very pale.

“I had cancer last year.” She told me. Helen is a breast cancer survivor. She told me that she lost off of her hair due to chemo. I felt like a right dickhead. I was stressing about the fact that my nose was sore, swollen and had a stitch in it when it really wasn’t that big a deal. People get seriously bad news every day,

I began to feel better and she sat me up gently. I thanked her for being so kind and caring, and left.

And it is true, Even when you think the chips are down, there is always a reason to be grateful. I went to Bakers Delight and ate a bacon and cheese roll, and thought about deep shit all the way home.

Are you a drama queen?

AND NEVER EVER GOOGLE IMAGES OF BASAL CELL CARCINOMAS!