Turn The Other Cheek

I am a bit sore and sorry for myself this evening. Yesterday was yet another date with the delicious Doctor Daram, dermatologist and MOHS surgeon to the Stars. Let me describe Daram. Half Croation and half Indian, he is utterly gorgeous, has a wicked sense of humour and explains everything he does. I could easily fantasise running away with him in a flash until he utters those magic words, "Down to your bra and knickers, Kate". Oh, the agony and the ecstasy.

These close encounters of my wobbly bits happen with monotonous regularity. In spite of my fair inherited British skin, I barbequed myself every summer until I was sixteen. Hats? Forget them. Mum bought me a banana palm woven hat that stuck into my scalp every time I wore it. Thus, hats were anathema and I would spend many a night radiating enough heat and light to power a small town.

A skin specialist scared the shit out of me when I was in my final year of school. Referred because on a spot on my cheek, it turned out to be completely innocuous. However, the sensitive geezer warned me, in no uncertain terms, that I'd end up with a melanoma by the age of twenty-five if I didn't cover up and use sunscreen. Sledgehammer advice worked like a charm. I took his directives from then on.

However, the damage had already been done. I have been having bits of my anatomy burned off, cut off, creamed off and then more cut off again for twenty years. The first skin specialist to chop a piece out of me was an arrogant bugger, who whilst taking a basal cell carcinoma off my upper arm, left me with a massive infection and an impressive haematoma. Choice.

After that delightful episode, I only let various GPs remove or burn suspicious spots off my body. Until I noted a dot on the base of my nose that Molescan hadn't even seen.

A referral to Daram Singh led to an inspection and major surgery on the left side of my nose. MOHS surgery is not for the faint-hearted. With a local anaesthetic block (which was not that painful), Daram removed the minimum amount of skin and tissue around a basal cell carcinoma the size of a five-cent coin. This involved him removing the cancer almost cell by cell until he confirmed he had reached his safety margins. Three times over six hours, he excised the cancer and checked the margins under the microscope until he was satisfied there were no rogue cells left. Then he rebuilt my nose, which took nearly an hour.

Daram and I have been best buddies since that day. He has shaved and burned bits of my skin about every three months. His last scrape of three areas - two of my upper arm and one of my left cheek - surprised us both. An innocent-looking"mosquito bite" dot on my cheek turned out to be my second squamous cell carcinoma. Although not totally nasty, these bastards can spread and cause havoc. And so, it had to come off.

The SCC was taken off my left cheek yesterday morning. Daram assured me he was giving me the equivalent of a mini facelift by using my natural lines to our advantage. However, he then spoilt the party by cautioning me of bruising and swelling from my left eye to my neck. "Hang on a minute", I exclaimed, "you're giving me a mini-facelift whilst adding to my turkey neck!" Hmmm...

Once again, my face appears to be a pseudo textile artwork. Daram's stitching is very neat. I was able to forgive him for all the local anaesthetic jabs that had preceded his surgery once I realised he'd finished the task.

Until the next time.

Tiny, isn't it?

Same place. Much smaller than this mosquito bite.

Hmmm...

My saviour next time!