Skin Flick

After weeks of psyching my self up in anticipation and apprehension, the above photo shows how I felt going into the dermatologist’s office for my first such visit ever on Wednesday morning— but it wasn’t that way at all!

Dr. Bay (I’ll call him that because he reminds me of a hunky lifeguard from the old tv series Bay Watch) proved to be a courteous, efficient young man who obviously knew what he was doing as he flicked chunks of flesh off my hide for the biopsies.

This guy is good.

Flick.

Flick.

Flick!

You wouldn’t want to go up against him in a street fight with switchblades.

He also froze a bunch of other “suspicious spots” on my skin with his can of Raid or whatever it is he uses.

The tool he used to flick off flesh interested me; it looks like half a safety razor blade which he flexed to conform to the contours of my anatomy. I wish I’d had such a tool back when I was building model clipper ships; it would work great for cutting rigging.

First thing when Ginny and I went back into the exam room, I told his assistant about my strong aversion to being touched (aphenphosphobia). She prepped me with that in mind and forewarned Dr. Bay that he had a nutcase on his hands.

But you’d have been proud of me.

I didn’t shriek or start or scream or climb the walls hardly at all.

Well, ok; I did cringe and shutter a bit now and then.

There have been a rare few times when a stranger, say a waiter or waitress in a restaurant, unexpectedly touched me that my body reacted by stopping breathing.

Inevitably when that happens, the stranger will notice my distress and, in an act of helpful kindness, begin to pat me on the back!

I feel ridiculous. But in normal day to day life, this quirk of mine presents no problem because, unless you’re a football player, people just do not go around touching other people. So my irrational reaction hardly ever comes into play.

Problem is, that over the past two months I’ve seen more physicians and nurses whose duty it was to touch me, than I’d seen in the previous 67 years. Thanks be to God I’ve enjoy fine health.

One thing I do when subjected to horrible medical procedures which generate panic in me (such as having my blood pressure checked or having my temperature taken) is to envision a happy peaceful place and move my mind out of the exam room to that place.

Yesterday in the dermatologist’s office, at first I focused on a museum-quality watercolor on the wall of the exam room, really a cut above the usual K-Mart art-by-the-pound stuff I’ve been seeing in other waiting rooms recently.

Then I calmed my mind by envisioning the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life:

The place I most frequently imagine is Ichetucknee Springs, a freshwater spring system an hour’s drive from Jacksonville. When I was a Boy Scout, long before Ichetucknee became a state park, my troop camped there often.

In the exam room I felt the crystal coolness of the spring. I watched wisps of mist dance above the spring run at dawn. I tasted the purity of the springhead. I heard the call of loons, the croak of frogs, and the grunt of gators. I remembered diving for mastodon bones and Paleo-Indian spearheads on the sandy bottom.

When I think of Heaven, Ichetucknee is what comes to my mind.

Then somebody touches me and I jerk back to the first photo in this posting!

No, seriously, Dr. Bay and his assistant, even though they do dozens of such procedures every day, recognized that this was a first for me and helped me in every way possible. Biopsy results will be known in about two weeks.

Afterwards, Ginny helped me dress and walked me to the checkout counter.

That’s where the shakes caught up with me. I turned to jello and started quivering so violently that the counter clerk urged me to sit down until I assure her that this is normal for me after being touched.

Why is it that in doctors’ offices and hospitals where you need it most, smoking is not allowed?

Let me emphasize that for any normal person skin biopsies are no more traumatic than shaving. No pain. No discomfort. Don’t hesitate to have it done if you need one. You could go have it done on your lunch hour and be back at your desk in no time.…. Unless you’re an utter spineless wimp like me.

You know, I’ve heard other Christians gush about how Christ gives them peace of mind. That’s a big selling point in evangelism.

That’s beyond my experience.

The best I can say is that the Lord helps me function at my current level of anxiety. And that gets me through.

Fortunately Dr. Bay’s office lies near one of Jacksonville’s most beautiful parks where a World War I memorial soars above the river. Ginny lead me there to recompose myself after I’d decomposed so badly at the check out counter.

A flock of pelicans fished for finger mullet just offshore. We watched joggers and jigglers trot past on the Riverwalk, and dog walkers stroll, and squirrels chatter among the acorns. She held my hand and assured me that I’d done ok.

We drove up to Whiteway Delicatessen for a delicious high cholesterol breakfast of sausage, eggs and home fries (It’s insane to try healthy food just after a doctor’s visit!).

At one point Beauty said — at least I thought I heard her say, “Do you want peace of mind?”

Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.

The second time, I heard her aright.

She said, “Do you want a piece of mine” offering me a slice of her toast.

Means the same thing.