Cancer Panic

For those who know me only from the blog, you may not know that I am a bit of a hypochondriac.  Specifically, I am scared that I am going to get every kind of cancer there is.  I cannot imagine a worse fate than cancer.  But, while many hypochondriacs seek out the advice of a physician a little too often, I am too scared to go.  Why?  Because they'll tell me I am going to die of every kind of cancer there is!  

Cut to my arm.  I have a red bump that I first noticed probably two years ago.  At my last job, I had an HMO.  When you have an HMO, you have to get a referral to see a specialist.  So, I went for a physical and casually mentioned the ENORMOUS RED BUMP on my arm.  The Nurse Practitioner (are you KIDDING?!  You don't get to actually SEE a physician with an HMO!) said it was nothing, but she offered to lance it off for me.  I said I'd "think about it" which is code for "you'll never see me again".  

About a year ago, my Aunt died of cancer.  This scared me enough to go back to the physician for the ENORMOUS RED BUMP on my arm that I had convinced myself was growing.  I now have a PPO.  Two things: (1) it's much more expensive to have a PPO and (2) you no longer need a referral.  Too bad I didn't know that last part.  I scheduled an appointment and went on my lunch hour (which turned into my lunch two hour when I had to sit in the waiting room for 45 minutes).  When I actually saw the physician (lovely woman, btw), she looked at me like I was nuts when I said I wanted her to look at my mole.  She handed me a card for dermatology and suggested I call.  I said I'd "think about it" which is code for "not on your life".  

But then I read something about skin cancer recently, which scared me enough to make an appointment with the dermatologist.  This was exactly four weeks ago today.  I work for a small University which is part of a major medical center here in the city.  Turns out, the person examining me was none other than a student who I had just helped in my office.  It also turns out that not only did they want to check the ENORMOUS RED BUMP on my arm, but they wanted to do an all-over body check.  Now, when I say all-over, I MEAN all-over.  Soup to nuts *pun*  Alsomyanus.  ANYWAY... turns out the ENORMOUS RED BUMP on my arm is nothing.  Phew!  BUT... the dermatologist found a mole on my back that I didn't even know I had.  He scheduled an appointment with me two weeks later to have it removed.  Meantime he gave me pamphlets on melanoma to read *faint*

Note: do not simply give a hypochondriac a pamphlet to read on some life threatening condition.  Also, do not casually speak about "scooping out" a mole from one's back.  Nor should you casually mention that your patient's entire family should get checked for melanoma immediately.

Two weeks later, the mole was removed.  It left a 1cm hole in my back which will take 8 weeks to heal.  It will leave a scar.  I am applying vaseline and a band-aid to it daily.  I also had to wait two full weeks for the results.

Cut to today, 2:30CST.  I waited for 40 minutes in the waiting room.  I then waited 10 minutes in the exam room.  

Derm: *hurriedly walking in* Sorry I'm late.  Say, did I give you those pamphlets on melanoma last time?

Me: Y-yes.  

Derm: Good.  I need to make some notes in your file here.  I will go over the "path" in a minute.

*five minutes go by as I listen to him clearing his throat and scribbling*

Derm: OK, well it's not cancer.

(THANKS FOR MENTIONING THAT UP FRONT, A-HOLE!)

Derm: But it is a dysplastic nevus.  Your entire family will need to be checked.  Get dressed and meet me in the front and I'll give you copies of this.  

Me: *quickly dress, scoot to front* So what does this MEAN?

Derm: Well, it means you are seven times more likely to get melanoma when you get these types of moles.  It also means I need to see you in six months.  See you soon.

In summary, I am happy I am not going to die tomorrow.  I am not happy that I have to go get prodded and poked by people I see daily every six months.  I am also switching dermatologists.