Five days ago, I had a basal cell carcinoma removed from the right side of my nose.I really believed I had dodged the skin cancer bullet this time as the delicious Daram Singh, MOHS Surgeon to the Stars, did not ring me until a week after the biopsy had been performed. Bollocks!
The result is that I am now sporting a stunning array of white plasters across my nose. In addition, due to Daram's superb needlework on my nose due to a prior skin cancer, he had to take a graft from behind my left ear to fill the hole he'd removed from my offending hooter.
Now, I have described Daram Singh in the past, but he always deserves another mention. Daram is half Croation and half Indian, which means standing in front of him causes my beating heart to quicken. Apart from being exceedingly handsome, he is genuinely caring, empathetic and an extremely skilled physician.
However, there are no images of Daram online at all. My theory is that he would have women of all ages swooning at his feet if he put up his photograph. He shares rooms with his Dad, Gian, also a skin specialist at Hollywood Medical Centre and Murdoch Medical Centre. He has been checking us both for suspicious spots over a number of years and is extremely thorough in his examinations. The only downside of this process is that, while standing in a presence of this glorious human being, he utters those magic words - "Down to your bra and knickers, Kate". *sigh*
Every six months, he checks me from the top of my head to under my feet, As melanoma is is my family, he is particularly vigilant. So, far, no melanoma has been discovered. I have had numerous skin cancers removed - some a tad nasty - from my head, nose, cheek, shoulder, and leg. I have also had the liquid nitrogen applied to both hands, arms and my chest at most visits.
The two most irritating issues surrounding this latest surgery have been pain from the graft site behind my ear and our lack of imagination working out how to wash my hair.
Ever since Michael removed the white tape from the graft site, I no longer have my glasses or my CPAP machine mask pulling on the incision. Which means no wincing on my behalf. The most difficult part of caring for the stitched site is applying the antibiotic cream. This morning, I managed to smear the sticky ointment everywhere except where it was supposed to go.
Washing my hair without getting my nose wet took a Great Deal of Thought. This movement of the Little Grey Cells took several days. Eventually, I could not stand my unwashed hair a second longer. Michael had proposed stripping naked with me in the shower and pouring warm water over the back of head, ah la, a bucket bath inside. I decided this was unsatisfactory, so we hit upon the idea of placing a dry hand towel over my nose, putting my head back as far as possible and carefully shampooing, rinsing, conditioning and then rinsing my hair again.
Oh my giddy aunt! My nose remained dry, my hair had been altered from disgusting to respectable again and enough trickles of water had refreshed my eyes. Even though I hadn't actually washed my face, just a bit of moisture was enough to make me feel like a New Woman. And I performed this task without a naked man in the shower with me. I may adore Michael, but seriously, one must Maintain Standards.
Today is Saturday. I only have to endure another four days of looking like Jack Nicholson in "Chinatown" or being teased for perhaps being too nosy...
The moral of this story? Being an idiot as a teenager caught up with me. I will continue to wear hats, stay out of the sun as much as possible and wear appropriate clothing, but the damage was done long ago.
We can't take our bodies for granted. And who on earth wants to suffer from unwashed hair for five days?! Eurgh!
