This morning I had an appointment with the plastic surgeon Dermatologist. It seems that yet another of my sun spots is actually irregular cells, and the first biopsy called for an additional skin scraping to get the margin clear. In fancy schmancy terms, that means she had to cut me, again.
Unfortunately before we could get to the cutting I had to show her a mole that only a bikini wax would reveal. How does one show her plastic surgeon Dermatologist a mole that is (quite often) nicely tucked away in breathable cotton? In my case; with angst, trepidation, and with some shame. Yes Doctor, I do feel a need to get rid of the hair there. No, it’s none of your business why, I’ve been married 112 years, I can do what I want with the naughty bits.
But of course dressing for the event was a conundrum. I was having an incision made on my inner right thigh, so a dress makes a lot of sense. What about the va-jay-jay freckle? How am I going to show it to her? How on earth do I make my vagina look like hers?
If I wear a pair of thong panties, I can pull the dress over my head and say, “lookie here!”, but what if there’s a slip? Not every pair of panties has fresh elastic. Two pair of underwear makes me look like a freak. Who wears two pair of panties in order to hide the vagina they’ll eventually have to show to the doctor? Losers, that’s who.
Three is the lucky number, two pair of industrial cottons to prevent any slippage and one pretty pair, because…. I’m insane (it’s the only because I could come up with).
As I lifted my skirt and lost every shred of dignity I’ve fought and clawed for, the Doctor said, “it’s a simple [super long medical word that only she can pronounce], I wouldn’t worry about it.”
And then she gouged a huge hole in my leg.