But, “Its Just A Freckle Spot”

Just found out earlier today that my freckle that appeared about 6 weeks ago needs a more in-depth exam. “He or It,” has become a time-consuming “widdle pain” for me. I have talked to a dermatologist, online researched, seen a medical doctor who directed me to a specialist, then waited to see a specialized doctor, and given an antibiotic, then back again to see a different doctor, and now my “little freckle-spot is going in by a scalpel, tested for level of disease, and will be eradicated.

“Should, I be worried about this unknown procedure, scared of the outcome,” am I overly unconcerned? I’m not attached to this new thingy on my face, it’s no longer a nuisance, as when I initially began the process of watching it “change into a rough-patched, blood spouting facial mar.” Clearly, I knew this “spot meant business,” as it spewed hate “right below my right eye.”

I was forced very quickly to recall the long Summers I had spent as a growing teen outside riding bicycles, playing softball, swimming, I didn’t regret any of it. So, in a matter of weeks, this spot had me wandering through “a path of nostalgia, frightened me or made me wake up a bit more to mortality than ever before, and, of course, I’ve become aware of unusual growths, and know some stuff about sun spots.”

So, after my visit, I had been shuffled through the lab for tests, had EKG for physical indicators, checked thoroughly for allergies, hereditary diseases, previous surgeries, and the nice, handsome M.D. Specialist, asked me, “Do you have any questions?” Naturally, I could see myself being numbed, vulnerable, but what else would or could go wrong? My inquisitive brain, quickly ran through the medical preparation, from start to end; however, I was dead set on everything going “as planned,” where nothing would go wrong. I indicated that, I was informed and from there I was escorted with a nurse for tests.

Pre-operation, I am reeling in enjoying the day, prior to being operated on. I have to eat, as much as I can, before midnight. That damn strict surgery pre-guideline to “nothing to eat after midnight.” Ew, “life’s not fair,” first you bring out this tiny beastly brat, then I’m succumbed to be denied food. This has brought out some of my worst traits, since I don’t even eat after midnight, but if I want to, I can’t this time. “This blows, Big Time.”

As a so-called stronger than many men and women, I hit the metaphorical “brick wall.” It’s not easy to jump over, you can’t knock it down, “a wall of steel, where I concede and mind my business, as best as I can. A term such as surgery is not the way to spend thinking time; writing about surgery is nonchalant; surgery has enveloped me, this “spot, is now famous.” Since, I have communicated to quite a few people about it’s history, “Who knows, someone may need their spot checked too?”

In preparing for my very early morning surgery, I stepped out. “It’s,” not far from my thoughts, you know, “forefront, not going anywhere,” until it’s gone for good. Patiently, I wait on my turn to get the process going, inside I try to keep cool, remain positive, that’s all I can do. Until the scare has reached to the “in the past,” stuff, I smile, laugh,and nod in approval at the wonders of medicine and professionals, who I rely on “for relief, both emotionally and physically.”

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