A STITCH IN TIME

The Victorians got the idea of holiday season, too.

It's the holiday season, and that can mean only one thing: another round of skin cancer surgery! And, just like a year ago this month, it's near the right temple, only vertical instead of horizontal as it was last time. Some people get to unwrap presents at Christmas; my surgeon unwraps my face. 

Before going further, it's necessary to give this warning: CAUTION: SOMEWHAT GROTESQUE PHOTO AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION, OR AT LEAST HAVE YOUR HAND READY TO COVER THE LEFT SIDE OF THE SCREEN. LIKE RIGHT NOW.

Maybe I should have shaved first.

To continue: Last December's surgery was a doozy, as the doctor had to slice a rather large section of my skin. (I could show you the pre-stitch-up photo, but that's only available upon request, and a strong stomach.) He had to cut twice to get out the entire basil cell carcinoma, which sounds like a Nazi-sympathizing character George Sanders would have played in the 1940s.

As you can see by the photo (presuming your hand isn't plastered over it), I resembled less myself and more the Frankenstein monster. Part of me was stitched while the rest was stapled. And you haven't lived until you've heard a stapler working on your face. 

Lucky for my fellow New Yorkers, I didn't have to walk around looking like I was ready to toss a little girl into a lake. My wife dutifully smeared me with Aquaphor before covering me with a bandage. And to make sure I was even less likely to be stared at in horror, I never left the house without my fedora, which covered the bandage more or less splendidly. A week later, the surgeon removed the stitches and staples -- the latter, of course, with a staple remover, which was no less weird than when they went in.

Since the surgeon had to shave my hair in that spot before digging in, I was in need of a special haircut once I healed a month or so later. Because my hair was now shorter on the right side than the left, I asked the barber to even things out, giving me a new, and frankly better, style. 

CAUTION: ANOTHER VAGUELY DISTURBING PHOTO COMING UP ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE SCREEN.

No, that isn't a worm crawling
down my face.

This year, as you can see -- that is, if you choose to see -- the surgery was much smaller, necessitating only a few stitches and no staples. (Again, a pre-surgery photo is yours for the asking.) As before, my wife has been putting her nursing skills to good use by doing the Aquaphor/bandage routine, although I've gotten the hang of it myself now. This is considered practicing medicine without a license in many states. 

I returned to the surgeon a week later, looking forward to the stitches' removal. Instead, I was informed that I would no longer have to wear the bandages at home anymore.  In four weeks, I could show them proudly to the outside world, while massaging them from time to time. These, you see, were dissolvable. 

In other words, I was still stuck with the bandage outdoors through the first week of January 2022. Look at that date again -- wouldn't you have thought they'd have invented instantly dissolving stitches by then?

Nope, this won't do at all.

Well, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. But you know what was? A vertical bandage that wasn't as easily hidden as last year's horizontal model. 

Wait, did I say, "as easily hidden"? You could see this thing from a block away. Manhattan -- and maybe your town, too -- is filled with old guys with bandages plastered on their faces. It's comforting to know I wasn't the only kid who grew up with parents who sent them out in the bright summer sunshine without benefit of sunblock with an SPF of 250. In fact, we wore suntan lotion. That it, if we remembered to even put it on. 

Well, what the hell. Baseball season was over anyway, so a cap would be inappropriate. It was time to retrieve the faithful fedora from the closet.

They'll never know the difference!

Oh yeah, that did the trick. Who needs dissolving stitches when you've got a hat like this? 

I forgot to mention one thing. In sewing me up, the surgeon pulled my skin back ever so slightly, giving me a mini-mini-mini facelift on the right temple. As with my new surgery-inspired haircut, I do my best to make limoncello out of lemons. Or is it limons? 

I'm hoping if I go through this again next year, it'll be on both sides of neck, so, in pulling back my skin, the surgeon can get rid of my turkey-like wattles. All I'll need then is a new turtleneck sweater to tide me over until the stitches come out. Another round of limoncello, please!

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