One More Scar

Yesterday, I had one more small spot of basal cell carcinoma removed. 

(It will leave a scar, he said. I'll add it to my collection, I said.) 

All things considered, it was not a terrible procedure. It wasn't on my face, so that's pretty good, really. It's a few finger widths down from my collarbone. 

(There are smaller stitches so the scar will be less noticeable, and you will be more comfortable wearing lower cut tops, he said. Thank you, I said.)

The initial bandage is a bit bulky and obvious -- no hiding that -- but I can peel that off after 24 hours and see what I'm really dealing with. 

Scars don't necessarily bother me. The idea of going through this procedure every few years does. Though again, not my face this time, so less unpleasant, means small win. 

I picked up dinner for myself at the local tiny/posh grocery store afterwards, because Not Cooking After Unpleasant Experience. I tucked my shirt under the strap of my purse over my shoulder to try to obscure the visibility of the bandage a bit, because I hadn't figured out a short-and-snappy explanation if anyone asked. It didn't work particularly well, but the parking lot was not crowded, so I mustered my wherewithal, tried not to be self conscious, and went in. 

(I like your shoes and you look great! said a pleasant lady I didn't know as I entered. Thank you! I chirped in reply.)

The only two compliments I have gotten from strangers in the past year (including this one) -- for I remember the other one, too -- have both been at times when it's been very clear that I am at that moment, In The Midst Of Some Kind Of Medical Unpleasantness. And I am grateful to the strangers -- both women -- who took it upon themselves to try to better my clearly not-great day with some nice words. 

It's been a rough road in many ways lately, but perhaps the world is not entirely a garbage fire: because every now and then, a nice lady says something kind at the right time.