National Doctors Day

March 30 is National Doctors Day which, for obvious reasons, has been a topic at the top of my consciousness.

Let me say this first: I have a great plastic surgeon. All the nurses, referring docs, and hospital staff have told me he's "amazing" and "an artist" and "a miracle worker."  Which are the exact kind of words you want to hear when you've just had half your nose chopped off and are needing someone to build something to fill the hole in the middle of your face.

Plus, he embraces my paranoid crazy and actually ENCOURAGES me to send him texts with pictures and questions in between appointments so I won't get upset and overwrought and worried that some slight change in the flap means what's left of my nose is going to slide off my face.

Which is not to say that I DON'T get upset and overwrought and worried that some slight change in the graft area means what's left of my nose is going to slide off my face...it just means that when I do start freaking out and referring to myself as "Kimbo No Nose" Opie can say things like "Text the doctor, ask HIM, he's the expert."

And, to date, the doctor has always answered within the hour, usually within 10-15 minutes.

Seriously, he's a rock star.

But at the same time, I occasionally feel like he's a little out of touch with the mysterious ball of emotions that is Kimberly.

Like when he decides that it is somehow critically important for me to understand "the nature of the defect we're correcting." and forces me to not only look at the mangled nose but spends horrifying minutes pointing out what's missing and explaining what we're going to add -- completely ignoring the way I was studying the ceiling and wondering aloud if it was going to hurt to vomit or if the leftover anesthesia from the cancer surgery would dull that pain too.

Ok, this is BEFORE the plastic surgery but
even then I'm not exactly a sexy beast! 

But my favorite doctor/patient moment came the day after the surgery when I was sitting in my hospital room, hoping to go home.  My entire face hurt, I had two black eyes, stitch marks the entire width of my forehead and down the side of my face reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster, what looked like a giant finger sewn onto the mess that used to be a nose and I was constantly wiping up uncontrollable globs of bloody snot...and the doctor, very seriously, told me I SHOULDN'T BE HAVING SEX. This was repeated in the written after-care instructions, basically shouted in bold all caps.

I mean, maybe I should be flattered that my raw animal magnetism is so primal and powerful that it transcends physical appearance...or maybe I should be worried that he thinks Opie is some strange, snot-obsessed, zombie-loving pervert.

Or maybe this was just a ploy to distract me from my own troubles...which was actually fairly effective because I have spent a disturbing amount of time wondering if he's issuing this warning based on some prior patient's post-operative problems and imagining all the horrifying things that could have happened.

But the fact is, none of that really matters. What matters is, as I said above, he's supposed to be a genius and he's eventually going to give me my face back.  So I hope he's having a great National Doctors Day and, to help facilitate that, I'm going to hold in all my questions and texts and pictures and let him enjoy the day in peace.

Which could make it a loooonnnngggg day for Opie!

Happy Birthday To Me

Yesterday was my birthday. Which, if you know me, is always a big deal because I have a love/hate relationship with birthdays.

(Wore my FANCY slippers to celebrate!)

I hate the thought of getting older (which is why I stay 28 year after endless year) but I love having a day that’s all mine. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter and all other days that bring the family together to celebrate…But, call me selfish, my birthday is all about me. We eat what I want, where I want, people send me cards to make me laugh and tell me they love me, and there’s ALWAYS chocolate cake involved.

Perfection.

Which might make you think that, since I’m recovering from the horrible skin cancer surgery this year, that it’s the worst birthday ever.

You would, in fact, be wrong.

First of all, friends of mine had an early party and gave me a crown to wear, the following weekend Opie and I went to the Melting Pot for brunch and bottomless mimosas, plus (more on this later!) he agreed to buy this house we’ve had our eye on for years!

So, if you think about it, I’m getting a new house to go with my new face this year – pretty hard to call that a bad birthday.

No, as a matter of fact, this isn't a picture of Jared with his first fish.
 It's not even a picture of Jared. It's me with my other brother, Tim,
 on a totally different fishing trip. Why would I reward Jared's blatant
thunder theft with even the smallest modicum of attention?!

Besides, the worst birthday ever was when I was about 8 and my birthday fell over Easter Break so the whole family went on a camping and fishing trip. And my brother Jared, who was 6 at the time, selfishly stole my thunder by catching his first fish ON MY BIRTHDAY! I’m sure I still got presents and cake and everything else but fishing was a big sport in my family and what I really remember was a lot of oohing and aahhing and picture taking over my brother’s accomplishment.

Jared tries to act like this was all happenstance, like his six-year-old self had no control over the fickle fancies of fish but I’d like to mention that even now, 20 some years later, he hasn’t really apologized.

I’m not going to say that I scheduled the forehead flap surgery for HIS birthday this year just to get back at him…but it’s interesting to note that karma has a long memory.

I should also note that my mom was here for my birthday this year and she and Opie didn’t let the actual day pass without some special attention. I had gifts and cards…Opie stopped on his way home from work to get some delicious cupcakes and, even though he has the whole “I bought you a HOUSE for the love of God” argument in his back pocket, he got me a Cancer Survivor charm for my charm bracelet.

So, in short, cancer can suck it. The healing is continuing, my face still looks REALLY bad but my spirits are pretty good, I’ve got the best friends and family in the world, and any day with chocolate cake is a good day.

Plus there’s really nothing like skin cancer to put that whole “first fish” thing in perspective.

Sunscreen, Skin Cancer, & Spiritual Support

Here’s the thing: I always wear sunscreen.

I mean, I ALWAYS wear sunscreen.

I wear sunscreen in the snow, I wear sunscreen on the go, I wear sunscreen in the rain, I wear so much sunscreen it’s insane!.

Sorry, that’s my Dr. Seuss version of the sunscreen saga…which probably shows that I’m losing it a little but seriously, This is a picture of me last July after 10 days in Hawaii:

 Do I look tan? No. You know why?

BECAUSE I ALWAYS WEAR SUNSCREEN!

In fact, I wear so much freaking sunscreen that I literally have a vitamin D deficiency and have to take a supplement every day.

Which is why I find the fact that I have skin cancer more than a little irritating. This is not noticeably helped by the fact that, since I’m not in a life or death melanoma struggle, many people act like I’m being overdramatic.

“It’s only basal cell,” they say. “I’ve had that. It’s no big deal.”

It’s really all I can do not to whip out my phone, call up a few pictures of the horrifying forehead flap procedure (seriously, do NOT Google it!), and scream “REALLY? You’ve had THIS? And you didn’t think it was a BIG DEAL? Because call me a drama queen but I think TURNING THE TOP OF MY FACE INSIDE OUT IS A BIG FREAKING DEAL.”

I think it’s safe to say I’ve been handling this entire skin cancer saga with my trademark stoicism.

Although here's a tip should you ever be diagnosed with the no big deal basal cell carcinoma…if, when you’re getting the original biopsy, before the dermatologist even has your test results confirming that you have the dreaded skin cancer, she suggests that you should not get treatment in your home city but should instead drive an hour and a half to a specialist, it is NOT a good sign.

Furthermore, if your husband offers to take off work and drive the hour and a half to the initial consult with the specialist, you should probably say to yourself, “Self,” you should say. “I suspect there's a reason the dermatologist wants me to go so far away. This is probably going to be a little more than your standard procedure.” And let him come with you.

Because when you get to the specialist and he explains to you that he's going to basically cut off your nose and then do this weird procedure in which he turns the top of your face inside out to fix the missing nose, it is rather disconcerting for your husband to get a call at work in which you are hyperventilating and unable to speak.

It is equally is disconcerting for your mother when, as you think you have yourself under control, you hang up and call her and have hysterics all over again.

Speaking of hysterics, you would think that a plastic surgeon who specializes in the whole face inside out technique mentioned above would be used to people freaking out in his office. I mean, I can’t imagine most people greet this news with jokes and laughter. However, my plastic surgeon seems to think I'm crazy. Apparently, when he—without warning--shoves a video of the inside out procedure into people’s faces, most do not respond by saying “Oh, F*** me!” and showing the iPad away. Most people, according to the young whippersnapper, fifteen year old Dougie Houser doctor,  feel better when they're educated about the procedure.

And, while I have always believed in the power of education, there are some instances when ignorance is, in fact, bliss.

In any case, hour doctor/patient relationship didn’t noticeably improve when he switched tactics and earnestly explained to me that I need to remember that his number one priority is to ensure my nose is reconstructed for maximum breathing potential. “Breathing is the most important thing. It’s number one,” he said. “Appearance is number two.”

When I allowed as how those were equally important issues in my mind, he interrupted me and said “No, no, no!” in a slightly irritated voice. “You have to understand this.  Breathing is one, appearance is two.”

“No, no, no.” I responded in the exact same tone. “You have to understand this: I can already breathe through my mouth.”

Pretty sure neither of us left that conversation feeling really heard.

Anyway, I’ve largely avoided talking about the surgery on my blog but the procedures start Monday so it’s getting to be unavoidable. And I’ll be honest, the next 2 months are going to suck out loud…I have 2 surgeries this week, 1 in April, and, since they just found another spot of skin cancer on my chin, probably a 4^th in May.

I say again, it’s going to suck out loud. And I could definitely use some spiritual support to get through it all. In addition, Opie could use some spiritual support to deal with me as I have not exactly been a ray of sunshine.

So, Catholic friends, we would love it if you could join us in an appeal to St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients. Muslim, Protestant and Jewish friends, I concede that this could be seen as blasphemous idolatry so would appreciate it if you could look past that and join us in praying for swift healing. Atheist, agnostic, and pagan friends, when you’re done shaking your heads at our superstitious nature, we’d appreciate if you’d send positive thoughts and good energy to strengthen us in the weeks ahead. As I’ve said before, I don’t think we have any Satanist friends but if we do, even though I understand that this surgery could be a great blood sacrifice to your dark lord, maybe you could still sit this one out and, oh, I don’t know, send cookies instead. (I like macarons.)

Anyway, thanks everyone and I’ll keep you updated when I’m up on my feet again.