The Mole

So today was the day that I finally headed off to the dermatologist (Dr. Mary Sheu) to have my mole removed. In medical parlance they called it "a severely atypical nevus", which in common speak means, "Oh, shit, we really don't like how that mole on your arm looks!" It wasn’t, thank goodness, melanoma, but it was atypical enough that they decided to treat it as though it actually was melanoma. This meant excising a 5 mm margin around the chunk they already removed when they did the original biopsy back in January.

I didn’t look while they had the wound open. I’m way too skittish about my own blood, but I couldn’t resist peeking while she was stitching it up. Dr. Sheu used what is called a purse string suture to make the scar as small as possible. I appreciate what she said about the scar being smaller, but have you ever seen one of those little velvet pouches that jewelers use put your expensive earrings in? You know, the ones with the little drawstring top. Let me just say this. What looks elegant in velvet looks a little alarming when interpreted in human arm skin. Supposedly it will all start to look a bit more normal in a month, or so. Meanwhile, my forearm now has what resembles an anal sphincter, complete with little arse hairs in the form of black stitches. I’m just grateful it’s not t-shirt season.

They sent me away with a very large bandage on my forearm which, when covered by my sleeve makes me look like I am smuggling hamsters. I was also given strict instructions to not put any pressure on the stitches. I wonder if typing counts as pressure on my stitches? Surely I won’t be able to do dishes, or laundry, and grocery shopping counts as heavy lifting, right? Otherwise I might develop a hemorrhoid on my arm!