nasty medicine

It was supposed to be a routine body check at my dermatologist.

I get their a few minutes early, not anticipating any surprises.

The waiting room is quiet and everyone but one is respectful of the silence. This one woman decides to have breakfast. And she's not eating an unobtrusive protein bar. That I wouldn't mind. But she's chosen the very loudest of things to eat.

First, every time her hand goes in her little plastic container, there is a loud crunch sound as she wiggles around for a few pieces. Then she finds a few, pops them in her mouth, and gnaws down on them — it sounds like she's trying to eat cement. Every bite reverberates through the otherwise quite room. It is so annoying. How can she not know that?

Finally she finishes, and takes out her phone to text a few people. She has the volume up and I can hear every letter she clicks across her keyboard. Click. Click. Click. Why do people do this? Does she think no one can hear?

I am grateful when the nurse calls my name.

Rhonda Pomerantz is my dermatologist. I've been seeing her for years, and there is no one better. 

Rhonda scans my body as she always does. Then examines my face. Then concludes I need this cream called 5-fluorouracil. It's actual a topical form of chemotherapy.  I've used it before, many years ago around my lips. I remember it well.

For 21 days I will need to apply this product twice a day. This time to my nose and a portion of my forehead. The cream brings out precancerous cells, and makes the affected skin red, scabby and overall hideous — as in, I'm really not sure I'll be able to be seen in public hideous. And, the worse it looks the better it's performing. So I want to look bad. The directions say  it can take one to two months after I stop using it for my skin to clear up completely.

Tomorrow I'll begin. Days 11-21 should be the worst, I'm told. I cancel some meetings during that time. One is for a photo shoot. Definitely can't do that one!

But looking scary for a couple of weeks is a small price to pay for a cure. 

I see lots of hats this summer!