Ouch.

Yet another visit to yet another dermatologist. I think this one may work. The first one—the one who missed the melanoma in situ—wasn’t thorough enough, perhaps because he was too busy trying to sell me sun block in the exam room. Grrrrr. I hate doctors who are more worried about money and building a practice than they are about treating the patients they do have. No way I’d go to this guy again.
The next one, in Lubbock, after the diagnosis, was too cavalier. Fine for him; not so good for me. He didn’t have me take off any of my clothes, which seems a strange way to examine someone’s skin, and he wanted to see me only once a year.
This latest guy was very thorough. He’s the only one who checked the bottoms of my feet and between my toes. And he used his sense of touch:  when he checked the bridge of my nose, he rubbed it over and over, applying different sorts of pressure and asking, “Is this sensitive? How about this?”
I’ll go back in six months. Everything looked fine, he said, except one mole on my arm. Since it’s been there as long as I can remember and was flat, I hadn’t thought anything about it. He, on the other hand, thought it had to come off. I didn’t feel a thing when he did this, but he must have been pinching the fire out of my arm: those are bruises on either side. Yeow.
Just a reminder:  if you’re worried, go have someone check your skin. Easy peasy, and you won’t have to worry any more.
If only he’d given us both lollipops after--