The Thing From My Nose

So this thing has been on the side of my nose since I was, what, 17? Something like that.



I've mostly just lived with this thing. It doesn't hurt and doesn't get irritated and most people don't even notice it (or don't point it out because there's such a thing as decorum). Lots of things show up on people's skin, you know? But lately it's been bothering me to look at, and once in a while I'll absent-mindedly scratch my nose and find myself bleeding in short order.

I had reservations about seeing a doctor, mostly because doctors suck and their billing and bureaucracy is even worse, and I never seem to have insurance that'll cover anything, and I had myself convinced it was a cosmetic thing. But I scheduled an appointment with a dermatologist down the street who is in my network, and decided to have it removed. I also have eczema on my hands (great for guitar playing, if by "great" I mean "not great"). So two birds with something something.

I went in this morning and the doctor couldn't have been cooler. She looked at my hands and said, "Yep, eczema." Then she gave me a prescription that's a bit better than the stuff I've been using (for three years).

Then she took a look at my nose and said, "Yep, basal cell carcinoma."

I sort of just stared at her for a moment while my inner Merck Manual fetched that definition...

Basal cell...carcin...carcinoma..? Carcinoma...like cancer...like skin cancer...like FUCKING SKIN CANCER?!?!?!?!!?!!!

(I didn't say "fucking" to the doctor.)

"Yep," she said. "But I don't want you digging your grave. It's very common among people who spend a lot of time outside, or in your case, if you spent a lot of time outside as a kid. It's totally treatable, but you need to get it removed. We can remove it right now."

"You mean like today?"

"Yes. Is that okay?"

"YES. I came in to get it removed, and now I really want it removed. I just thought it was a minor cosmetic thing and my insurance wouldn't cover it."

"They'll probably cover cancer," she said.

"Probably."

We laughed and she said, "I'll be right back."

So a few minutes later, they reclined me in a chair. I closed my eyes and the assistant gave me a local anesthetic. Then she poked my nose a lot with a needle, which contrary to what you might expect, hurt like a sumbitch until the local took over. Then I felt a scrape and a pull, some more scrapes and pulling, and lots of wiping. Then I felt some heat, and that was that.

Less than a minute later, the doc said, "Okay, you're done."

I teared up a bit while laid back in the chair. Bright lights and sharp needles and cutting things off my nose will do that. I asked for a tissue and said it was because I'm not a real man. They just laughed. Then I said, "I'm sorry, I just get emotional." Good times. I get biopsy results next week.

So now it's gone and all is well. For a dollar, you can touch my nose scab.

Postscript: For the record, it is not a good idea to call someone and say, "I have cancer," even if the kind you have is the most common and least likely to metastasize, and not worth worrying a whole lot about, as opposed to, say, brain cancer or something. Though you might think it's funny to seize the drama and play up the lack of severity for comic effect, other people don't always see things that way.

I'm not sure what all the fuss is over. They're not the one with cancer.

See? That's funny.

Anyway. That's my day so far.