I’m not gonna lie…I always thought my parents were a little over the top with their doctors’ appointments. They will not allow anything to come between them and their beloved providers.
Kind of like Calvin’s except these Calvin’s wear a white coat.
Hell could be freezing over but dammit, they will make that appointment. Like Superman during a blizzard. Over tall buildings and faster than a speeding bullet. Nothing will stop them.
The year before the pandemic, I decided I probably should start going for annual skin checks. 2019 went off without a hitch, then the pandemic hit and I was forced to cancel my appointment for 2020.
One that I didn’t reschedule.
Until recently, when I discovered that two friends of mine were diagnosed with melanoma. Skin cancer. One was caught early. The other, not so much.
Was this a sign? Maybe. But that was all I needed to get on the horn and call my doctor.
It wasn’t even mid-August and the next available appointment with my derm — who I love almost as much as my firstborn — wasn’t available until four days before Christmas.
Am I panicking? Not totally.
But what if? I won’t let my brain go there because I tend to be a bit of a hypochondriac. Just make sure my ashes are thrown in the Atlantic, mmmkay?
Anyway, I think I now get what my parents mean. There is nothing that can make me cancel that appointment. Except maybe death. And it will have to be my own. If it’s anyone else’s they will have to wait.
I jest.
Kind of.
Is this another by-product of aging? This sudden need to have all the things checked?
ALL the things between the hair on my head and the bottoms of my toes? Inside and out?
Gone are the carefree days of having to only worry about skidding out on your bicycle and scraping a knee.
Oh my god. Knee scrapes can’t turn into cancer…can they?