So Long to the Rat Mole
posted by 4th Dwarf
"The technical term is basal cell carcinoma, but I think you might as well call it a rodent ulcer," said the surgeon at our first consultation.
"Rodent ulcer?" I asked.
"Uh huh," he said and went on to explain that yes, it's "malignant" but almost never metastasises, and it's no big deal to remove.
I nodded calmly, but in my head, I was thinking, what kind of medical marketing genius came up with rodent ulcer as a euphemism? Might as well call it a rat mole.
Anyway, the pesky thing is gone now. It was interesting how few people seemed to notice the growing scabby thing on my forehead while it was there. Many more people noticed the bandage, but I suppose when you use it as display space that is only natural.
First, I went with a post-it note that said "You should see the other guy." Later I realized I could save myself $2.50 on a birthday card. I was surprised at how many people read "Happy Birthday, Jim!" on my forehead and assumed I was Jim. People who actually seemed intelligent in other ways.
"I'm not Jim," I politely said when they wished me a happy birthday. "If I was Jim, this would be written backwards."
Back to the rat mole, it's gone. The stitches come out on Friday and the biopsy results will be a few weeks.
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8 comments:
Oh. And here I was, all, "Oh, Short Stuff's just got himself smacked between the eyes by a micrometeorite again, and now he's showin' off," and, "Oh, he's been screwing around with that new home mushroom farming kit in his usual highly unrecommended ways, and now he's turning into one."
My apologies.
I just want to reassure you, my miniscule pal, that new hole in your head doesn't change my stellar opinion of you one teensy iota. I hope your new Frankenscar looks really kewl...
And who the hell's this 'Jim' guy?
Jim? He's a fine fellow. I am sure you'd like him. Bit of an adventurer and ladies' man like myself.
He hasn't much in the way of whiskers, so not as handsome, but I can't match him for wit, I tell you.
Why last night a fellow told me I had an "esprit Cartesian" and when I asked what that meant, Jim says "deep... like a Cartesian well."
Thank goodness you're OK dwarf. After all, if you weren't around, who'd I fight with?
Say, anonymous, I have no answer for you there. None of these other candy asses are going to tell you when you're off base, that's for sure.
And Coyote, I'm just back from reading your latest poem.
I think we need to find you a date. Maybe like we tried for Musie.
No. Not acceptable.
Yet I don't believe any of us actually found her a date.
And just as well, Dame Aggie, ma'am. The short guy and his oddball friends keep suggesting 'someone new, who's perfect for you' to me, in tones of astonishment, like it's a great new idea.
Turns out to be the same woman each time, only wearing a different-coloured fake moustache. The Muse should thank her lucky stars she got her own dates! I shall do the same, with all, uh, due respect, thankyoueversomuch...
Oh, well. If we want to do a comparative analysis then, I can predict the place where it all breaks down...the Chinchilla phase. Perhaps Coyote may go on Lavalife. Perhaps he may meet an initial. Perhaps he may marry said initial. But Chinchillas? Let's think about this! He'd as soon eat them up as a snack as raise them! I mean, he's a coyote!
And as for Coyote not having time to blog, well...splutter..........
Nonny, I find your conjectural, unfair and baseless accusations deeply (sluuurrrrrppp-p-p....) wounding...
I indeed sometimes have no time to blog.
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