Bop-a-Mole

In all the excitement that were the holidays (and the holidays were very nice, I might add), I have neglected my little blog. Poor blog. I'm sorry! But the nice thing was that I pretty much neglected all things computer and email related for at least a week. Ahhh, heaven. Of course, I kept tabs on it all with my Blackberry, but say what you will about Crackberries, they do keep me from being tied to my computer every damn day.

When last I wrote (before the whole Clean thing), I had just had my icky mole scraped out (blech), leaving me with an almost-2-inch, stitched-up, bandaged-over hole smack dab in the middle of my neck. When the bandages weren't on, and if you didn't look too closely, the row of stitches looked something like a gang tattoo written in some kind of ancient Chinese type. Either way, very attractive, and not exactly they look I was going for when I picked out the cute little scoop-neck sweater for the holidays. But, in the grand scheme of things, all was good.

I was, however, more anxious about the biopsy results. It took them a week to gt back to me, and after I few rounds of phone tag, I finally got in touch with the PA at the dermatologist's office. Here's the main part of the conversation:

PA Dude: We got the results.
Me: Oh, good?
PA Dude: Yes, and the good news is that we got it all out and the margins were negative. [Whatever the heck that means.]
Me: OK. And ...? [waiting for the bad news]
PA Dude: And ... Well, you have a follow-up appointment scheduled, right?
Me: Yes. And ...? [are they really going to make me wait until the follow-up to tell me the bad news]
PA Dude: Well, good. We will see you then.
Me: OK. But wait. Was it all good news, then?
PA Dude: Yeah. [not even a hesitation, like of course I should know this]
Me: Oh. Whew. Good. [Mentally screaming at him that he really needs to brush up on his "phoneside" manners and perhaps rethink the way he words things.]
Click.

So, very long story longer, I am fine. The mole is gone. However, I have to keep an eye on it for the rest of my life, as it is the aggressive (but localized) kind that can come back. And if this means another surgery on my trachea in the same spot, I am not going to be a happy camper!

And don't even get me started on the squeamish that was the removal of the stitches on Christmas morning. All I can say about that is thank God for the super-strong Bloody Mary my mom concocted for me.