« June 2006 | Main | August 2006 »
July 23, 2006
I Was
"You were the best little girl. You never complained, never cried."
I was born with congenital nevi. I'd add a link to this word, but anything related on the internet would provide you with way too much information. Basically, I have lots of moles on my skin that were there when I was born. Plus, I had one giant nevus. This is exactly what it sounds like -- a big herkin' mole. So big that it covered the majority of my left leg.
Moles carry with them an increased risk of skin cancer. Thus, shortly after birth, the process of surgically removing the largest ones began, and I became a plastic surgery patient.
I remember none of the first, major operations, and very little of the subsequent ones. I vaguely recall being wheeled down the hall laying down, holding my Mom's hand through the railing, and having to let go at the sign that said "Hospital Employees Only." I remember the faces with only the eyes showing who put the clear plastic mask over my nose and mouth, and obediently trying to inhale the putrid gas deeply. I remember that I was violently allergic to the anesthesia and that I would vomit frequently for hours after every surgery, with each mouthful tasting exactly how the gas had smelled when it first entered my lungs. And my heart rate still jumps every time I step into a hospital and smell the distinct medicinal odor. I swear I can even smell the anesthesia at times.
My last surgery to have moles removed was when I was about four, and I hadn't seen my plastic surgeon since. Until a few weeks ago. I went to get a few moles checked out, which thankfully turned out to be perfectly fine. The much more memorable event for me was seeing the look in eyes of this experienced, seasoned Doctor with a reputation for being stern and stoic, when he thought back to his previous encounters with me. He stood behind me, reminiscing while examining. When he had finished both, he gave me a firm pat on the back as passed in front of me. As he examined his chart, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. At first I figured that his eyes were tired, but my Mom, who was in the examination room with me, shot me a look. I glanced back at the Doctor as he replaced his glasses, and noticed that his eyes seemed misty. Could it be...?
It felt good to know that I was such a good kid. It was quite a boost to the self esteem. At first.
Since then, I've been wondering what my Doctor would think if he knew me now. What if he knew how easily I cry? How often I fail to be content with my circumstances? What if he could see what I'm like on my morning commute when I'm late to work and both lanes are occupied by parallel drivers who insist on maintaining the exact same leisurely pace? I wonder if he'd ask the same question I keep asking myself -- "What happened?"
Posted by Megan at 10:02 PM | Comments (4)