Yesterday your Mom and I trundled down to Oshkosh. I had an appointment for a "minor" procedure to remove skin tissue that looked funny.
I had discolored skin near my temple along the hairline. It was the size of a round dime. It would vary from "just noticeable" to angry at times. It had been present for a year or two.
Turns out it was a basal cell cancer which does not metastasize (it won't spread to the bloodstream). It consists of single cells which will continue to spread deeper into the seven layers of skin or into a bigger area on the surface of the skin. They need to remove the suspicious spot and then test to see if "they got it all".
Here we go. The first skin area removed was about the size of a quarter and deep. Ugly. After waiting 45 minutes for testing of the skin sample, the news was "we didn't get it all". What the hell does that mean? They need to take a bigger area of skin tissue (probably the size of a half dollar) and cut deeper. The second cut created the 8th Wonder of the World. It was a facial crater as deep as the Grand Canyon. We again had to wait 45 minutes to see if they had removed all the cancerous tissue. Finally a positive response. Yes they got it all. Then came all the disclosures.
They had to cut away some hair to do the surgery. Okay.
The skin is pulled together and stitched. First the deep stitches to hold deep tissue together and then the finely crafted surface stitches that finish the job.
I would need to sleep sitting up for a week because they don't want blood rushing to the injured tissue. Something about clots.
I would have a huge facial bandage reminding me of Kazemota (the hunchback of Notre Dame). It gets removed after two days when the bleeding should have stopped.
I can lift nothing heavier that a milk carton.
I can not bend over for fear of blood rushing to the damaged area and fear that blood pressure might skyrocket.
I can not exercise including walking for two weeks for fear of the blood pressure issues after a surgery.
I get to take anti-biotics for 7 days "just in case".
Tomorrow I get to take the hideous blood absorbing bandage off and start replacing it with something more reasonable.
They say there will be no scars but that defies belief.
In two weeks I get to take the stitches out.
The good news is that I get help from your Mom, Grasshopper No.3 (I can't shovel snow), and friends. Wait, scratch the friends. I don't have any friends.
It was almost like Julius Caesar going to Roman Forum to give a speech and he was ambushed by Brutus and friends and he ended up dead. It began as such an innocent day.
My advice is to use lots of sunblock and stay out of the tanning booths.
Stay Warm.
Dad
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