Tweet If you see a spot on your nose you'll probably call the dermatologist.
The nurse will hand you a gown and tell you to take off all your clothes but you'll be cold so you'll keep your socks on.
Then the dermatologist will come in, take one look at you and say, "Oh, I do not like that at all!" before she even officially starts the exam.
Then she'll repeat it three times while you're standing in front of her, naked, while she looks over your entire body with a magnifying glass.
Then you'll feel awkward as she slips your socks off so she can look between your toes.
Then you'll apologize for having your socks still on and get bright red when it suddenly dawns on you that no one has ever slipped your socks off before and then you'll keep talking because when you feel socially awkward of course it makes total sense to you to say If I'd known you were inspecting me this thoroughly I would've taken out my toe jam. And my belly button lint.
And then you'll stand there praying for lightening to strike you because the awkward silence is deafening and the nonresponse is humiliating.
Then you'll be told that you have to have the spots removed: two on your nose and one on your right butt cheek.
But they'll wait with the butt cheek because the spot on your nose is concerning and it needs to be removed right away.
Then they'll tell you that the other room is better equipped for this type of procedure so could you please move.
And you'll hobble down the hall carrying your purse and your clothes (hoping you don't drop your bra or panties) while trying to keep the back of the gown from flopping open and also attempting to maintain some sense of decorum.
After you're settled in the new room they'll give you a shot in your nose.
And it'll hurt like hell.
But you won't cry because you're in too much shock.
Then they'll press on the side of your nose with a medical cookie cutter leaving you with a gaping wound that is bleeding profusely.
And then you'll have to lay still while they stitch you up.
And you'll probably think I never want to do this ever again right before remembering you have another spot on the other side of your nose that has to be removed so you actually will be doing that again.
And then you'll get another shot in your nose.
And it'll hurt like hell.
But worse than that will be when they attempt to take your skin off and you realize that you're not actually numb yet.
So you'll get another shot.
And that'll hurt like hell.
And then they'll try to take your skin again but surprise! you're still not numb.
So they'll come at you with another needle.
And you will curse them because it still won't work.
And then you will cry.
And the doctor will suggest doing this another time.
And then you'll shock yourself with your hearty like hell we'll do this again response.
So they try to numb you one last time.
And it either works or you just passed out from the pain but suddenly it's done.
And you're light headed but alive.
But then they might have trouble stopping the bleeding with this one.
So they'll try to cauterize it.
Which is a fancy word for burn the hell out of your face.
And the smell will make you sick but you won't notice that until after the nurse peels you off the ceiling because holy hell you felt that, too, and you'll know that electrocautery is nothing to mess around with.
But that still doesn't stop the bleeding and you'll hear them use words like unusual and abnormal and concerned.
Then they'll pour some chemical on the bleeding wound and you're immediately transported back to your childhood when your masochistic mother poured iodine and peroxide on every open wound you ever had, but you've got to admit the bubbling from the peroxide was pretty cool.
Finally, right before you pass out, they'll slap a bandage on your nose and tell you to call if it doesn't stop bleeding in an hour.
On your way out you'll think to ask, "so, they'll test this? For what exactly?"
And your doctor will reply with, "Worse case scenario, melanoma but we'll be able to tell what stage it's at when the results come back and be able to come up with a treatment plan, so I don't want you to worry. Make sure you make an appointment to have those stitches removed in a week."
Then you'll call your sister on the ride home and force her to listen to all the gory details even though it kind of makes her sick to her stomach but she'll be cool and keep your kid overnight so you can sleep with a package of frozen peas on your beak.