Like Peeling A Grape

 Herself speaks.

"It's like peeling a grape," the dermatologist said. 

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I had the third MOHS surgery yesterday. It was successful, it appears; for the moment, I am once more skin-cancer-free. 

It was no more unpleasant than last time. (Which is to say, it was unpleasant, but not unexpectedly so). The doctor took a different tactic this round: since the cancer appeared to be very surface-level, he was able to remove the top layer of skin and did not need to go deeper. Rather than suture the wound closed -- which would have required transplanting a flap of skin from nearby -- he left it open. Think of a skinned knee, except cleaner and more thorough. And about the size of a nickel (approximately - in my mind's eye it seems larger, though that's likely because it is so very FRONT AND CENTER on the surface of my nose). It should eventually fill in, and in about six weeks, I can ask him to revise the scarring if I am not satisfied with the appearance. 

The idea of having yet another procedure in six weeks is... disappointing. 

At least it doesn't hurt much (except when I had to put pressure on the site last night to stop some fresh bleeding). That's something.

I can hardly stand to look at myself. I don't particularly enjoy looking in the mirror anyway -- I am slow to come to terms with my current iteration that most closely resembles an anthropomorphic rodent (and a rotund and middle-aged one at that). The addition of an unsightly wound front-and-center, even though I know it's temporary, just makes me cringe. The fact that it will continue to be unsightly for six weeks or longer, depending on how we need to revise the scarring, is disheartening. I know it's a drop in the bucket time-wise. Still. I am frustrated.

A positive (other than momentarily being cancer-free) is that because Pandemic, it will not be too strange for me to continue to wear a mask in public. I can maintain my usual form as invisible middle-aged woman and avoid becoming noticeable in a good Lord what happened to her way. That's a good thing.

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One thing that surprised me this time around, was the near-universal comment from the few people I told: it could be worse. Yes, it certainly could. I know it could. I am having some trouble mustering gratitude for it not being worse, though. Perhaps that's my failing. I'd feel better with acknowledgment of how I'm feeling. Or a generic "it will be OK" -- because that not only affirms that it will eventually be OK, but also acknowledges that it might not currently be OK. 

In this day and age, we are so expected to exude positivity, relentless optimism and cheerfulness. I think we have lost sight of the fact that acknowledging uncomfortable or unhappy feelings isn't a bad thing to do. We all have difficult emotions, and those feelings are part and parcel of what it is to be human. It's OK to be distressed -- that's not a personal failing. It's a human moment. We all have those. They'll pass, as all moments do.