Skin Doctors I Have Known and Loved

Part 1 of My Story

Because I am a member of the League of Very White People, it is wise for me to see a dermatologist on a regular basis.  Or, more accurately, for the dermatologist to look at me.

Very White People at the Beach.
From left to right: my grandmother, my older brother, and
then me, looking fashionable.
Approximately 1965 or so.

When we first moved to Western PA, I needed to find a new dermatologist.  At my first appointment, I waited in the exam room, shivering in my paper “gown” (a ridiculous misnomer for this garment).  Soon, a member of the Borg Collective barged in the room, with a weird oculus where human eyes should have been. 

It turns out it was the doctor himself, who didn’t think it was important to look the patient in the eye the first time he met her.  He told me some things about my skin, but I was so terrified that I couldn’t take in what he was telling me.  I decided to switch doctors, which is not easy with dermatologists because they are harder to find than a Ravens fan in Pittsburgh.

My switch was serendipitous.  The next dermatologist, who bore a passing resemblance to Albert Einstein, greeted me like a normal human being, before putting on the weird oculus, which, it turns out, is a dermatologist’s magnifying glass thingy, the better to see skin cancers with, my dear. 

In another universe, Einstein could have
been a dermatologist.

While waiting in my paper gown, I happened to be reading a book by Mark Twain, and the doc volunteered that he periodically performed the role of Mark Twain on stage.  He also divulged that, at that moment, he was getting ready to perform the role of Albert Einstein in the theater.  He saw no threatening skin growths, gave me a kindly lecture on how I should stay out of the sun and wear SPF 500 sunscreen, and sent me on my way. 

I was star-struck.  In the next few years, I was able to see him on stage, once in a very moving performance in the role of Otto Frank (father of Anne Frank), and then again in a one-man show as Mark Twain.  In turn, once a year he saw all of me in the exam room at his dermatologist office. 

Then (sob) he retired from medical practice and I had to find a new skin doctor.

In the next post you will find Part 2 of My Story.  It has a happy ending.

Pre-Superbowl DOs and DON'Ts

Today I found myself alone in the house for several hours.  Just in case you, Dear Reader, ever find yourself in a similar situation on the day before the Superbowl, here are a few helpful DOs and DON’Ts.

DON’T go to the grocery store on the Saturday before the Superbowl and the day before a snowstorm is predicted to hit the area. You are likely to lose your favorite glove in the melee.  There will be no reduced-fat Cheez-its left, even though your Younger Daughter specifically asked for Cheez-its.  The store will be so crowded with ornery people that you will not be able to make it over to the toilet paper aisle and you yourself will become ornery.

DO leave the store and shed your orneriness by helping the guy with 20 helium balloons get the balloons into his car.

DON’T forget to get flour, if you are planning to bake something for the church bake sale.  DO say “Damn” or something stronger when you realize you forgot.

DO pay your aunt’s bill before it is overdue.

DON’T try to calculate how long your aunt’s money will last.  You will spend an hour down that rabbit hole and end up with an inaccurate number anyway, because you don’t know the secret number you need to calculate how much she must withdraw from her IRA, and you have no idea what her expenses really will be.  Any answer you get will be depressing.

DO eat an apple for virtue points, and then DO open the small bag of Chex Mix that you have been saving, and DO watch an episode of Doctor Who. 

DON’T make a new recipe for the church bake sale.  DON’T make the recipe for Pumpkin Snickerdoodles that you got off the internet from some random person.  Remember that you don’t have enough flour to make more than one kind of cookie.

DON’T spend 30 minutes looking for the salt.  DON’T begin to think that your brain has a big hole in it, because why would you have not put the salt in at least one of its usual six places?

DO text your husband with this message:  “I am losing my mind.  I can’t find the SALT.  Trying to make cookies for the $&@& church bake sale.”  He will soon text back with this:  “It’s upstairs on my bureau.”  Why, yes it is!  Because that's where everyone likes to keep the salt.

DO taste the new cookies.  You will discover that they are disappointingly like cardboard, and you will decide not to take them to the church bake sale, even though this means you have to show up empty handed.

DO wish that you had made the cookies that your daughter asked you to make – chocolate chip cookies.

DO be thankful that you are not hosting a Superbowl party, and DO be thankful that you don’t give a hoot about America’s National Holiday tomorrow.

Y'all have a great time!  I'm going to play the piano.

War Opinions: Guest Post

With the change of semester at high school, Younger Daughter’s last period at school has switched from Study Hall to Forensics.  I never had the option of Study Hall in high school, but it sounds lovely to me – extra time to do homework, or go to the library and read books!  But now it’s time for YD to buckle down and learn the art of argument.  Her class on World Affairs has begun its study of the Middle East.  

From all these changes, this is where her thoughts went yesterday.  She asked me to publish this as a guest post.

Different War Opinions and Perspectives

By Youngest Daughter

Strange things come to those who ask an opinion of a war.

Start from far away. From the top of the world, from the heights of the heavens, let’s take a look at the god’s opinion.

I can’t see anything. There’s just green continents. I can’t see any humans. Why should I care?

Okay. That was a little too far.

Closer now, upon the earth, but still far away from the actual gunshots. Let us find the superpower’s opinion.

Something’s happening, all right. But I can’t see it. Why should I care?

Okay, still too far. Let’s try again.

Yet closer still, within the land, torn apart by blood and fire, and into a place of pristine white. What is the government’s opinion?

Something’s happening. I can see it right here on this chart, on this report. But it’s not happening to me. Why should I care?

Still too far! This is getting a little ridiculous.

Okay, one more time.

As close as we can come, straight to the fight, into the heart and mind of a soldier, shooting and running, waiting to die and hoping to live.

What does he think?

Something’s happening. I can see it. It’s happening to me. And I care. I care deeply.

I care about wanting it to stop.

Please government, superpower, gods themselves, can’t you help me?

Thanks for the opinion. Now, why should I care?

Strange things come to those who ask an opinion of a war.

Retirement Package

Due to various things lately, my husband and I are feeling our age a bit.  We are definitely the filling in the generational sandwich right now, at one moment transporting the teen to band practice (and more) and the next moment paying the bills for Grandma (and more).  It’s not a bad way for things to be at all, just busy.  And it is true that the pressure of the responsibilities weigh on a person.

The other night my husband said to me, “It sure is hard managing the old people’s needs.” 

I said, “Yeah, and they don’t even live with us.  Imagine how difficult it must be for the people who have their elderly relatives living with them.”

My husband misinterpreted what I was saying.  He thought I was suggesting that we invite them all to live here.  Oy!

Husband:  “We would never do that. Our house just isn’t set up for that.  I mean, the bathroom….”

Me:  “Oh, I’m not saying that we should have them live here.  But I wonder what the Old Folks’ Homes will be like by the time we’re ready to live in one.  Will they be like they are now?”

Husband:  “When I retire I’d like to go live at the bottom of the sea.”

This reminds me of Mafia-style retirement.

Me:  “ There’s too much pressure at the bottom of the sea.  I’d prefer the moon.  There’s no pressure on the moon.”

Husband:    “But if you’re at the bottom of the sea, you can watch the fish swimming by!  You can’t see anything from the moon.”

Me:  “You can see everything from the moon!  You can see the entire universe.”

Husband:  “But you can’t get packages delivered to the moon.”

Because what fun would retirement be if you couldn’t get packages?