went in and got my stitches from my mole biopsies removed. the little buggers were embedded in there and the physician's assistant had to dig with a small trowel into my freshly-scarred skin to get them out.
i rather pointedly mentioned that i had yet to receive a return call with the results of my cytology [or a return call back about correct aftercare, but oh well i guess, right?]. the p.a.'s big blue eyes registered awkward surprise. after the sutures were plucked, he came back with the results. the beast on my back was totally normal, which i knew. the ones that were removed from my front displayed some dysplastic atypia, and while they're not cancerous, it was probably good that they're gone. he recommended i come in for a screening every six months.
as i left, my cell rang; a private call. it was the dermatologist? calling? with the results of my biopsy? she cutely described them as being a three on a ten-point scale of weirdness, and that i needed to come in once a year.
"josh said every six months," i muttered, petting my bandages gingerly.
"josh? when'd you talk to josh?" she asked.
"uh, just now? i just had my sutures removed?"
"ohhh... okay. six months or a year, whatever you're comfortable with."
i guess the million dollar question is: how comfortable am i with having small chunks hacked from my body? not very -- i will keep my six-month appointment.
anyway, the good news was that i don't have cancer! woot! how did i celebrate? sitting at the milwaukee/damen/north stoplight, i reached back with my blunted thumbnail to give the giant crusty scab on my back one last satisfying attempt at freedom.